Elden Ring II

by Robin171301

Many ages have passed in the Lands Between, now covered by a greater dark fog. The last Elden Lord vanished, after The Fall. The grace is fading and with it all hope of restoring peace, yet in this darkness lies one small glimmer hope, the Last Tarnished.

10. Chapter 88

Chapter 88: Voyages Notes: Please fellow tarnished, check out the discord. /EusdUu5v
Chapter Text Mountaintops
Maeve, Gwen, Eleanora, and the girls soared through the air, their wings carrying them swiftly towards the Mountaintops of the Giants. As they approached their destination, they were met with a fierce, unnatural snowstorm that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
The biting wind and thick snowfall severely hampered their progress. Maeve, leading the group, glanced back to see the others struggling much more than herself. Her crimson hair whipped around her face as she assessed the situation.
"We need to land!" she shouted over the howling wind. "This storm's too strong!"
The group descended, searching for shelter amidst the blinding snow. They spotted some ruins below and made for them, finding an underground chamber that offered protection from the elements.
As they touched down, the girls, Eleanora, and Gwen instantly vanished their spectral wings. Despite being magical constructs, the cold had affected them as if they were real. Maeve's dark, feathered wings, however, remained visible, covered in a layer of ice and snow.
"Everyone alright?" Maeve asked, shaking snow from her hair.
The girls huddled together, shivering. Mary nodded, "We're fine, Aunt Maeve. Just cold."
Maureen, ever practical, spoke up, "How much farther do we have to go?"
Maeve sighed, leaning against a crumbling pillar. "Hard to say in this weather. Could be a day, could be three."
Eleanora stepped forward, concern etched on her face. "My lady, perhaps we should consider turning back. The girls aren't accustomed to such harsh conditions."
Gwen nodded in agreement, her black pigtails dusted with snow. "We could always retry when the weather improves."
Maeve's eyes narrowed slightly. "And how long would that be? We don't have the luxury of time."
Amy, usually the quietest, spoke up unexpectedly. "We can handle it, Aunt Maeve. We want to help."
Polyanna grinned, adding, "Yeah! A little snow never hurt anyone. Well, except maybe that one time when-"
"Poly," Millicent cut her off with a gentle nudge, "Not the time."
Maeve couldn't help but smirk at their determination. "Alright, listen up. We'll rest here for a bit, but we need to push on soon. This storm isn't natural - I can feel it in my bones. Something, or someone, is causing this."
The girls exchanged worried glances, but Mary spoke up confidently, "Then we'll face it together. Whatever's out there, it can't be worse than what we've already been through."
They huddled inside some nearby ruins.
As the group settled in to rest, Maeve noticed the others casting concerned glances at her ice-covered wings. She deliberately ignored their looks, hiding her discomfort. She knew they had a long journey ahead, and she needed to remain strong for all of them.
Maeve stood up, brushing off the snow from her dark wings. "I'm going to fetch some wood for a fire. Stay here and keep watch. I'll be back soon."
Gwen's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure? The storm out there is brutal."
Maeve fixed her with a stern look. "I can handle it. Just keep everyone safe until I return."
As Maeve ventured out into the howling wind, Gwen exchanged a worried glance with Eleanora but said nothing more. They both knew better than to question Maeve's determination.
Outside, Maeve trudged through the deep snow, her wings providing some shelter from the relentless storm. As she gathered what wood she could find, a distant sound caught her attention. Through the howling wind, she could have sworn she heard the unmistakable roar of a dragon. Maeve paused, her red eyes scanning the white void around her, before finishing her task.
Upon her return, Maeve dropped the wood near the center of their shelter. "Millicent, get a fire going," she ordered, then beckoned Gwen and Eleanora to join her away from the others.
Once they were out of earshot, Maeve spoke in a low voice. "We need to be vigilant. Get warm, but be prepared to move at a moment's notice."
Gwen tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
Maeve's eyes narrowed. "I think there's an ice dragon behind this storm."
"An ice dragon?" Gwen's eyes widened in surprise. "But I thought they were all killed by the Fire Giants ages ago."
Eleanora, however, nodded slowly. "Not all of them. Last I heard, there was still one living here in the Mountaintops. It's been ages since anyone's seen it, though."
Maeve nodded, her expression grim. "That fits with what I sensed out there. We'll need to be careful."
She glanced back at the girls, who were now huddled around the small fire Millicent had started. "We'll move out either once night falls or if the storm lets up, whichever comes first. For now, let them rest and warm up."
Gwen and Eleanora nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.
"I'll take first watch," Eleanora offered.
As they rejoined the others, Maeve couldn't shake the feeling that their mission had just become far more dangerous than anticipated. She watched as her nieces warmed themselves by the fire, their faces illuminated by the flickering flames, and silently vowed to see them through whatever challenges lay ahead.
Maeve stood motionless at the top of the stairs, her eyes fixed on the swirling snow outside. The hours had passed, but she remained vigilant, her wings occasionally shuddering to shake off the accumulating ice.
Mary approached, her footsteps soft on the stone. "Aunt Maeve? You should come inside. It's warmer by the fire."
"I'm fine here," Maeve replied, not turning around.
Mary persisted, her voice gentle but insistent. "Please? You've been out here for hours. We're worried about you."
Maeve remained silent, but Mary didn't leave. After a few more pleas, Maeve finally let out a heavy sigh. "Alright, alright. If it'll stop your fussing."
She followed Mary down into the chamber, where the fire cast a warm glow on the sleeping forms of the other girls. As they settled by the flames, Maeve felt some of the tension leave her shoulders.
Mary glanced at her sisters and stifled a laugh. "Look at Poly. She's drooling again."
Maeve snorted, a rare smile crossing her face. "And Maureen's got her face buried in that book. I swear she reads in her sleep."
They shared a quiet laugh, careful not to wake the others. For a moment, the weight of their mission seemed to lift.
Then Maeve's expression sobered. She turned to Mary, her voice low. "How are you holding up? After... Rhaegon?"
Mary's smile faded, her eyes dropping to the fire. "I'm... okay. It's hard, you know? But I'm more worried about Father. The way he flew off..."
Maeve nodded, her own concern evident. "Magnus has always felt things deeply. But he's strong. He'll pull through this."
"I hope so," Mary said softly. "I've never seen him like that before."
Maeve placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, a rare gesture of affection. "We'll look after him. All of us. That's what family does, right?"
Mary nodded, managing a small smile. "Right. Thanks, Aunt Maeve."
They sat in companionable silence, watching the fire and keeping watch over their sleeping companions. The storm continued to rage outside, but in that moment, they found a small pocket of warmth.
As Eleanora rushed back into the chamber, her face etched with urgency, everyone snapped to attention. "It's confirmed," she said, her voice low but tense. "An ice dragon approaches. We need to move, now."
Without hesitation, the group quickly and quietly made their way outside, positioning themselves strategically around the ruins. The air was thick with anticipation as they waited, the storm having mysteriously subsided.
Soon, the massive form of the ice dragon came into view, its scales shimmering like freshly fallen snow. Maeve, standing tall despite the danger, stepped forward.
"Great dragon," she called out, her voice carrying across the mountaintop. "We seek peace, not conflict."
The dragon halted its approach, regarding Maeve with ancient, frost-blue eyes. It didn't attack, but neither did it retreat.
Seizing the moment, Maeve gestured to Eleanora. "Come forward. Your expertise is needed here."
Eleanora emerged from her hiding spot, her posture a mix of reverence and caution as she approached the dragon. "Noble creature," she began, her voice steady despite her nerves, "we wish no conflict."
The dragon's gaze shifted between Maeve and Eleanora. Then, without warning, it let out a deafening roar that echoed across the mountains. As the sound faded, so did the remnants of the snowstorm, leaving the air crisp and clear.
"I am Borealis," the dragon's voice rumbled, ancient and powerful. "The storm was my doing, a defense against those who would harm my kin."
Eleanora's eyes widened in understanding. "The Bloody Fingers... they've been attacking dragons?"
Borealis lowered his massive head, a gesture of sorrow. "Slain or taken. Many of my brethren have fallen to their treachery. Those that remain hide, as I have, using the storm as cover."
Maeve stepped forward, her expression grim. "We fight against the Bloody Fingers as well. Perhaps we can aid each other in this struggle."
The dragon regarded her carefully. "You are not like the others who have come to these mountains. There is power in you, young one. And in your companions." His gaze swept over the group, lingering on the girls who had emerged from hiding.
Maeve stepped forward, her voice firm and resolute. "Our intention is to parley with the Bloody Fingers. We hope to appeal to reason beyond their bloodlust, to show them the true enemy that threatens us all - the Frenzied Flame."
She paused, her red eyes meeting Borealis' icy gaze. "Moreover, we came here seeking the aid of dragons in our fight. Your strength would be invaluable against the chaos that seeks to consume these lands."
Borealis let out an angry growl, the ground trembling beneath their feet. "Ally with Bloody Fingers? After what they've done to my kin? You ask much, demigod."
Maeve stood her ground, unflinching in the face of the dragon's anger. "I understand your fury, Borealis. But consider the greater threat. The Frenzied Flame would see all of creation burned to ash - dragons included. We must unite against this common foe."
Her expression hardened, a flicker of the Rune of Death gleaming in her eyes. "And let me be clear - if the Bloody Fingers prove to be beyond reason, if they refuse to cease their attacks on your kind, I will personally see to it that they are wiped from existence. You have my word."
There was a tense moment of silence as Borealis considered her words. Then, unexpectedly, he let out a low, rumbling sound that might have been amusement. "You speak boldly, little one. Your conviction is... intriguing."
The great dragon lowered his head, bringing his eyes level with Maeve's. "Very well. I will lead you to the Bloody Fingers' stronghold. But be warned - they are not known for their hospitality or reason."
Maeve nodded, a grim smile on her face. "Neither am I, when pushed. Thank you, Borealis."
She turned to the others, who had been watching the exchange with a mix of awe and apprehension. "Prepare yourselves. We move out immediately."
As the group gathered their belongings, Eleanora approached Maeve. "My lady, are you certain about this? Negotiating with the Bloody Fingers is risky at best."
Maeve's eyes flashed with determination. "We must try, Eleanora. For the sake of all the Lands Between. But make no mistake - I meant what I said. If diplomacy fails, we'll show them why they should fear the demigods."
With a nod to Borealis, the unlikely alliance set off across the snowy landscape, the looming threat of confrontation with the Bloody Fingers hanging over them like a storm cloud.
As they approached the Guardian's Garrison, the sight that greeted them was grim. Dead dragons lay strewn across the landscape, their once-majestic forms now lifeless and broken. Others were trapped in massive cages, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and defiance. The group exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of the situation sinking in.
Borealis, his voice heavy with sorrow, spoke quietly. "This is where I leave you. I cannot risk being seen." With a low rumble, he summoned another snowstorm, using it as cover to retreat into the mountains.
As they neared the main gate, Maeve stepped forward, her voice carrying authority. "We seek an audience with your leader. We came to parley."
There was a moment of tense silence before recognition flickered in the eyes of some of the guards. One of them pointed at Eleanora. "That one... she's one of us. Or was."
After a brief discussion among themselves, the guards allowed the group to enter. As they made their way through the fortress, Maeve leaned close to Eleanora, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you know any of these Bloody Fingers?"
Eleanora's eyes darted around, her expression grim. "I recognize a few. They're some of the more... savage ones. We should be cautious."
Maeve gave a subtle nod to the others, a silent signal to be prepared for potential conflict.
As they ascended to the top of the fortress, they were met by a man whose presence commanded respect. He wore a battle-worn knight's cloak over weathered armor, his short beard framing a face etched with experience.
"Ser Steffon," Eleanora called out, surprise evident in her voice.
The man's eyes narrowed as he regarded the group, lingering on Eleanora. "Well, well. The prodigal knight returns. And with interesting company, no less."
Eleanora turned to the others, her voice low. "Ser Steffon is a member of the Pureblood Knights, a somewhat more... honorable faction within the Bloody Fingers. He was Ansbach's right-hand man."
Maeve stepped forward, her posture radiating authority despite the tense atmosphere. "Ser Steffon, we've come to discuss matters of great importance. The fate of the Lands Between hangs in the balance, and we believe it's time for old enmities to be set aside."
Steffon's hand rested casually on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the group with practiced scrutiny. "Bold words, stranger. And what exactly do you propose?"
Maeve stepped forward, her voice carrying across the gathered Bloody Fingers. "I'll lay out our terms plainly, Ser Steffon. We face a threat that endangers all of the Lands Between - the Frenzied Flame. We seek allies in this fight, and we believe the Bloody Fingers could be valuable in this cause."
Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of the Rune of Death visible in their depths. "However, let me be clear - should you refuse, or should you continue to harm the dragons, I will not hesitate to wipe your entire faction from existence."
Steffon's eyebrows raised, more intrigued than threatened. "Bold indeed. I must admit, the prospect of joining such a fight alongside Ansbach once more is... appealing." His expression hardened. "But the dragons must be punished. They entered these mountaintops seeking asylum, and we granted it. I had tamed my men's bloodlust, turned them into honorable knights. Then the dragons attacked us without provocation."
Maeve's anger flared, her wings rustling with agitation. She turned to Eleanora, her voice low. "Borealis deceived us?"
Before anyone could respond, a young voice rang out from one of the nearby cages. "That isn't true!" A small dragon, barely more than a hatchling, pressed against the bars of its prison. "The Bloody Fingers attacked us first! We only defended ourselves!"
Steffon's face contorted with rage. "Lies! You dare spread such falsehoods, beast?"
Amy, her quiet demeanor replaced by determination, stepped towards the cage. "I believe it," she said firmly, meeting the young dragon's eyes.
Maeve held up a hand, silencing any potential outbursts. "Amy, speak with the dragon. Find out what really happened."
The tension in the air was palpable as Amy began to converse quietly with the young dragon. Eleanora kept a watchful eye on the surrounding Bloody Fingers, ready for any sign of hostility. Gwen positioned herself protectively near the other girls, while Mary's hand rested on the hilt of her weapon.
Steffon's jaw clenched, his eyes darting between Maeve and the caged dragon. "This is preposterous. You would take the word of a beast over that of honorable knights?"
Maeve's gaze remained steady. "I will take the word of whoever speaks the truth, Ser Steffon. And rest assured, we will uncover that truth - one way or another."
As Amy listened intently to the young dragon, she relayed its words to the others. "It says a man in a white mask led some of the knights in an attack against them. They thought it was unprovoked."
Steffon let out a harsh laugh. "Impossible. Varre is dead. Everyone knows that."
The girls nodded in agreement, with Mary speaking up. "It's true. We saw Varre fall ourselves."
Eleanora, however, stepped forward, her face grim. "It may not be as impossible as you think, Ser Steffon. Varre was known to have decoys - other nameless individuals who wore white masks like his. They were meant to sow confusion and act in his stead when needed."
Steffon's expression shifted from disbelief to concern. He turned, scanning the gathered knights below, his eyes narrowing as he focused on certain individuals. After a moment, he pointed out a small group to Maeve. "Those men... if they believed Varre had returned, they would follow him without question. Their loyalty to him was always... fervent."
He turned back to Maeve, his voice low and tinged with frustration. "I had no knowledge of these decoys. But if what you say is true, and if some of my men believed they were following Varre's orders..." He trailed off, the implications hanging heavy in the air.
Maeve's eyes hardened as she processed this new information. "So it seems we have traitors in your midst, Ser Steffon. Men who would act against your wishes and provoke a war with the dragons."
Steffon nodded grimly. "It appears so. This... complicates matters."
Eleanora stepped closer to Maeve, speaking quietly. "If there's a Varre decoy at work here, it could mean the Frenzied Flame's influence is already spreading. We need to act quickly."
Maeve turned back to Steffon, her voice firm. "We need to get to the bottom of this. These men you've pointed out - I suggest we question them immediately. And I want all the dragons released from their cages. Now."
Steffon hesitated, clearly torn between his loyalty to his men and the growing evidence of betrayal. "And if they resist?"
Maeve's eyes flashed dangerously. "Then they'll face the consequences of their actions. Make no mistake, Ser Steffon - one way or another, we will uncover the truth and put an end to this conflict."
Maeve oversaw the release of the dragons personally, her eyes sharp for any signs of deception or resistance. As the last cage was opened, she turned to Steffon, who had been watching the proceedings with a mix of resignation and anger.
"The interrogations are complete," Maeve said, her voice cold. "The traitors have confessed. Their fate is in your hands now, Ser Steffon."
Steffon nodded grimly, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword. "They will face justice for their betrayal."
Maeve then turned to Eleanora, a dangerous glint in her eye. "Would you like the honor of dealing with this Nameless White Mask? The traitors said he's holed up in that tower." She pointed to a nearby structure, its stone walls looming ominously against the snowy backdrop.
Eleanora's face hardened, a flicker of her old bloodlust visible in her eyes. "It would be my pleasure, my lady."
They made their way to the tower, the girls following close behind. As they reached the entrance, an overwhelming stench of decay and iron assaulted their senses. Maeve and Eleanora exchanged a grim look before pushing the door open.
The sight that greeted them was nothing short of nightmarish. The interior of the tower was a gruesome tableau of horror. Every surface was coated in a thick layer of congealed blood, forming grotesque patterns and symbols that seemed to writhe in the dim light. Torn and mutilated limbs were strewn across the floor, their exposed flesh blackened and festering.
As they ascended the spiral staircase, the walls became increasingly covered in bizarre, blood-drawn symbols and words in an unknown language. The air grew thick and oppressive, carrying the metallic taste of blood and the sickly-sweet odor of decay.
At the top of the tower, they heard a low, rhythmic mumbling. Rounding the corner, they found the source of the grotesque scene. The Nameless White Mask sat in the center of a blood-soaked circle, his robes drenched crimson. He was hunched over, a jagged knife in hand, carving intricate, bloody symbols into his own flesh.
The figure didn't seem to notice their presence, lost in his gruesome ritual. The girls recoiled in horror, with even Maeve and Eleanora momentarily stunned by the sheer depravity of the scene.
Maeve's voice cut through the heavy air, cold and dangerous. "End this madness, Eleanora. Now."
Eleanora stepped forward, her blade gleaming in the dim, blood-tinted light. The Nameless White Mask slowly raised his head, the eyeholes of his mask seeming to absorb all light. As Eleanora approached, the air itself seemed to thicken with an otherworldly malevolence.
The Nameless White Mask's voice rasped through the blood-soaked air, sending a chill down Eleanora's spine. "Ah, sister... you've returned to us at last."
Eleanora froze, her blade trembling slightly as unwelcome memories flooded her mind. The White Mask continued, his voice a grotesque parody of warmth. "Join me, Eleanora. Let us complete this glorious ritual together. We can commune with the Formless Mother once more, reclaim our former glory."
For a moment, silence hung heavy in the air. Maeve tensed, ready to intervene if necessary. The girls watched with bated breath, fear and concern etched on their faces.
Then Eleanora's posture changed. Her shoulders squared, her grip on her weapon tightened. When she spoke, her voice was steady and resolute. "I am no longer that person. Yes, I fell from grace, but I have risen anew. I will not make the same mistakes again."
In one fluid motion, before the White Mask could react, Eleanora's blade flashed through the air. There was a sickening thud as the masked head hit the blood-slicked floor, rolling to a stop at Maeve's feet.
Eleanora stood still for a moment, her blade dripping with fresh blood. Then she turned, picked up the severed head, and faced the others. "This will serve as proof for the dragons. And as a reminder of the path I've chosen to leave behind."
Maeve nodded approvingly, a hint of pride in her eyes. "Well done, Eleanora. Let's get out of this accursed place."
As they descended the tower, leaving behind the gruesome scene, there was a palpable sense of a chapter closing. Eleanora had faced her past and emerged stronger, while the threat of the White Mask's influence had been decisively ended.
Outside, the cold mountain air seemed to cleanse them of the tower's oppressive atmosphere. They made their way back to where the dragons and Bloody Fingers waited, ready to forge a new alliance in the face of the greater threats that loomed on the horizon.
As they approached the gathered dragons and Bloody Fingers, Eleanora held the severed head of the Nameless White Mask aloft. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by murmurs of shock and disbelief.
Maeve stepped forward, her voice carrying across the assembled groups. "Let this serve as proof of the deception that has plagued both sides. Now, Borealis, Ser Steffon, it's time to put an end to this conflict."
Borealis, who had emerged from hiding, rumbled low in his throat. "The blood of my kin still stains the snow."
Steffon, his face grim, countered, "And my men have suffered losses as well."
Maeve's eyes flashed dangerously. "Enough. The true enemy has been revealed and dealt with. I will not ask again - you will agree to peace, or face the consequences."
The air crackled with tension as Borealis and Steffon exchanged wary glances. Finally, Steffon nodded. "For the greater good, we will set aside our grievances."
Borealis inclined his massive head. "So be it. But know that trust must be earned."
"Then earn it," Maeve replied firmly. "Both of you. When you're ready, you're welcome to join us at the Haligtree. We'll need every ally we can gather for the battles to come."
As they prepared to depart, the girls surrounded Eleanora, their eyes wide with curiosity and a touch of apprehension.
Millicent spoke first. "Eleanora... what was it like? Being a Bloody Finger?"
Eleanora's face tightened, but she sighed and nodded. "It's not a part of my past I'm proud of, but I suppose you deserve to know."
As they walked, Eleanora began to recount her experiences. "The life of a Bloody Finger is... brutal. We were driven by an insatiable lust for blood, always seeking our next victim."
"Did you... kill a lot of people?" Amy asked quietly.
Eleanora's voice was heavy with regret. "More than I care to remember. We didn't discriminate - Tarnished, commoners, even other Fingers if the mood struck us."
Polyanna, her usual jovial tone subdued, asked, "How did you escape it?"
"It wasn't easy," Eleanora admitted. "The call of the Formless Mother is... intoxicating. It took every ounce of willpower I had to break free."
As Eleanora finished her tale, shame written across her face, Maeve surprised everyone by placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"We all have our demons, Eleanora," Maeve said, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. "I, too, have grappled with dark impulses. The difference is, you've overcome yours. I still struggle with mine daily."
Eleanora looked at Maeve, shock evident in her eyes. "My lady, I... I had no idea."
Maeve's smile was tinged with sadness. "Few do. The Rune of Death isn't just a power - it's a burden. A constant whisper urging destruction."
Mary stepped closer to her aunt. "Is that why you're always so... intense?"
Maeve nodded. "Partly. It takes constant vigilance to keep the darker urges at bay. But seeing you girls, seeing what we're fighting for... it helps."
The group walked in thoughtful silence for a moment before Maureen spoke up. "You're both so strong. To face those kinds of challenges and still choose to do good... it's inspiring."
Eleanora and Maeve exchanged a look of mutual understanding. "We do what we must," Eleanora said softly. "For the future we're trying to build."
Maeve's voice cut through the contemplative silence. "Remember this, all of you. Our pasts shape us, but they don't define us. It's our choices moving forward that truly matter."
Maeve's words hung in the air, a sentiment that seemed almost foreign coming from her. She smiled slightly, a hint of melancholy in her expression. "I sound like Magnus, don't I? He always was better at this sort of thing."
The girls, emboldened by the openness of the conversation, turned their attention to Maeve. Mary spoke up first, her voice gentle but curious. "Aunt Maeve, what about your past? You've hinted at it, but we've never really heard the full story."
Maeve's red eyes clouded for a moment, memories flickering behind them. She sighed deeply. "It's not a pretty tale, girls. Are you sure you want to hear it?"
The sisters nodded in unison, their faces a mix of anticipation and concern.
"Very well," Maeve began, her voice low. "As you know, I bear the Rune of Death. It's a power that comes with... temptations. Dark urges that are always there, whispering in the back of my mind."
She paused, glancing at Gwen. "You were there for most of it, weren't you? Help me out if I miss anything."
Gwen nodded solemnly. "I remember it all too well, my lady."
Maeve continued, her voice taking on a harder edge. "After Magnus... died, I lost my anchor. He was always my beacon of light, my reason to resist the darkness. Without him, I gave in to my worst impulses."
"What did you do?" Millicent asked softly.
Maeve's laugh was bitter. "What didn't I do? I unleashed my vengeance on anyone who stood in my way. Entire settlements razed to the ground, armies decimated. I was ruthless, efficient, and utterly without mercy."
Gwen interjected, her voice somber. "It was a dark time. Many feared to even speak your name, lest they draw your attention."
Maeve nodded. "I had a servant then, Huron. He was... deviant, to put it mildly. But I never tried to control his darkness. If anything, I encouraged it."
"Why?" Amy asked, her quiet voice filled with confusion.
"Because I didn't care," Maeve admitted. "About anything or anyone. I let him indulge his worst impulses because it suited my purposes. The atrocities he committed... they're on my hands as much as his."
She continued, her voice growing colder. "My own men weren't safe from my wrath either. Punishment for failure was severe, often fatal. I ruled through fear and pain, believing it was the only way to achieve my goals."
The girls listened in stunned silence, trying to reconcile this version of Maeve with the aunt they knew.
Maureen spoke up, her analytical mind working. "But you changed. What happened?"
Maeve's expression softened slightly. "Magnus returned. And suddenly, that part of me that wanted to be good, that part I thought had died with him, it started to stir again."
"It wasn't an instant change," Gwen added. "There were... setbacks. Old habits die hard."
Maeve nodded in agreement. "Indeed. It's been a constant struggle since then. Every day, I have to choose to be better, to resist the pull of the darkness."
Polyanna, her usual cheerfulness subdued, asked, "Is that why you're sometimes... harsh with us? Because you're trying not to be worse?"
Maeve's eyes widened slightly, surprised by the insight. "I... yes, I suppose that's part of it. I'm always afraid of going too far, of letting the darkness take control again."
Mary stepped closer to her aunt, placing a hand on her arm. "But you haven't. You've been there for us, protected us. You're not that person anymore."
Maeve's smile was tinged with sadness. "I appreciate that, Mary. But the truth is, that person is always there, just beneath the surface. It's a constant battle."
Eleanora, who had been listening silently, spoke up. "If I may, my lady... I think that struggle is what makes you strong. You face your demons every day and choose to be better. That's true strength."
Maeve looked at Eleanora, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. "Thank you, Eleanora. I... I needed to hear that. The same can be said for you."
As they continued their journey, the atmosphere was heavy with the weight of Maeve's revelations. But there was also a new understanding, a deeper bond forming between the group.
As they pressed on, Maeve felt a strange lightness. The burden of her past hadn't disappeared, but sharing it, being accepted despite it... it made the weight a little easier to bear. And as she looked at the faces of her nieces, at Eleanora and Gwen, she felt a renewed determination to live up to the person they believed she could be.
Gwen chuckled softly as the girls turned their curious gazes to her. "My past? Well, it's not nearly as dramatic as Maeve's or Eleanora's, I'm afraid. I started out as a simple squire in Magnus and Maeve's armies, long before either of them had wings or... well, before everything changed."
Her eyes took on a distant look as she recalled those earlier days. "It was a different time then. Magnus and Maeve were powerful, yes, but they were still finding their way as leaders. I remember the night Magnus knighted me... it was the same night he..."
She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Maeve nodded solemnly, picking up the thread. "The night he died. I remember it well."
Gwen's expression hardened slightly. "After that, everything changed. I shared Maeve's anger, her grief, her need for vengeance. I pledged myself to her cause entirely, becoming one of her dark angels, her elite guard."
Maeve interjected, a hint of pride in her voice. "Gwen was always the best among them. More than just a soldier, she became a confidant in those dark times."
The girls listened, enthralled by these glimpses into the past they'd never known. Then, Millicent spoke up, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Is it true what Eleanora told us about you having a crush on our father, Gwen?"
The question hung in the air for a moment. Gwen's eyes widened in shock, her gaze snapping to Eleanora, who was already turning to the girls in furious rage.
"You little imps!" Eleanora hissed. "That was supposed to be a secret!"
Gwen's face flushed crimson. "I... that's not... I mean..."
As Eleanora and Gwen began to argue, their voices rising in pitch, Maeve watched with unconcealed amusement. After a moment, she decided to weigh in.
"Oh, it's true alright," Maeve said, her voice carrying over the bickering. "I could always tell Gwen fancied him. It was rather obvious, really."
Gwen turned to Maeve, her face a mixture of embarrassment and betrayal. "My lady! I never... I wouldn't have..."
Maeve waved her hand dismissively. "Oh, relax, Gwen. It's ancient history now. Besides, I remember when Magnus offered to make you his consort. You were practically glowing with awe."
The girls gasped in unison, their eyes wide. Mary spoke up, her voice filled with confusion. "Father did what? When was this?"
Maeve's amusement faded slightly as she recalled the circumstances. "It was when Magnus was under the control of the Greater Will. Gwen was the only one who stood by his side then. The Greater Will, speaking through Magnus, made the offer."
Gwen's voice was quiet when she finally spoke. "I knew it wasn't really him. But for a moment... I couldn't help it."
The atmosphere grew somber as the weight of those memories settled over them. Maeve placed a hand on Gwen's shoulder. "Your loyalty has never wavered, Gwen. Not to Magnus, not to me, not to our cause. That's worth more than any fleeting crush."
Gwen nodded, a small smile returning to her face. "Thank you, my lady."
Maeve watched as the girls peppered Gwen and Eleanora with more questions, their curiosity insatiable. She felt a warmth in her chest, a feeling she wasn't entirely used to.
Maeve paused at the cliff's edge, surveying the vast Mountaintops of the Giants. She turned to the group with a mischievous glint in her red eyes.
"We have a choice to make," she announced. "We could head back to the Haligtree now, where Magnus and Miquella are probably buried in some thrilling research..."
The girls giggled at her sarcastic tone.
"Or," Maeve continued, smirking, "we could do some monster hunting and sightseeing here. What'll it be?"
The girls' excitement was immediate and vocal.
"Oh, can we? Please?" Mary pleaded.
"There's so much to learn out here!" Maureen added enthusiastically.
Polyanna bounced on her toes. "Yeah! I want to see if I can punch a frost troll!"
Millicent and Amy nodded eagerly in agreement.
Gwen and Eleanora, however, looked less than thrilled.
"My lady," Gwen began, shivering slightly, "I absolutely despise this cold. A warm bath sounds far more appealing."
Eleanora nodded vigorously. "I've had quite enough of these mountains. We should report back to Lord Magnus."
The girls huddled together, whispering furiously. After a moment, Maureen stepped forward with a sly smile.
"Technically speaking," she began in her best scholarly tone, "as children of demigods, we are part demigod ourselves. Which means..."
"We outrank you!" Polyanna burst out, unable to contain herself.
"It's true," Mary added solemnly, though her eyes twinkled. "By the laws of divine hierarchy, our vote should carry more weight."
Gwen and Eleanora's jaws dropped in unison.
"That's... that's not how it works!" Eleanora spluttered.
"Since when do you know anything about divine hierarchy?" Gwen challenged.
"Since we started reading Father's books," Amy said quietly, a rare smirk on her face.
"Well, I never!" Gwen huffed. "My lady, surely you're not going to let them-"
But Maeve was already doubled over with laughter. When she finally straightened up, wiping tears from her eyes, she grinned widely.
"Oh, that settles it," she declared. "Well argued, girls. Monster hunting and sightseeing it is!"
The girls cheered while Gwen and Eleanora groaned in defeat.
"But-" Eleanora tried to protest.
"No buts," Maeve cut her off, still chuckling. "Consider this a team-building exercise."
As they took to the air, Millicent called out, "What should we look for first?"
"How about those frost trolls Polyanna wants to punch?" Maeve suggested, leading the way.
They soared over snow-covered peaks and through misting valleys, the girls pointing out interesting landmarks below. Even Gwen and Eleanora, despite their initial reluctance, found themselves caught up in the excitement.
As they approached a cave, Polyanna's voice carried over the wind. "Hey, Aunt Maeve? If we find any cool treasure, can we keep it?"
"Absolutely not," Gwen interjected. "Lord Magnus would-"
"Oh, lighten up, Gwen," Maeve laughed. "What Magnus doesn't know won't hurt him."
Their adventure continued well into the evening, battling frost trolls (Polyanna did indeed manage to punch one), exploring ancient ruins, and discovering hidden caves. The girls proved their mettle in combat, working together seamlessly under Maeve's guidance.
As the sun began to set, they found themselves atop a high peak, overlooking the vast expanse of the Mountaintops.
"Well," Maeve said, turning to the group with a grin, "shall we head back to the Haligtree, or should we make camp and continue our adventure tomorrow?"
The debate that ensued promised to be just as lively as the one that started their journey, as the strange family reveled in their unexpected day of freedom and adventure.
Altus
Godwyn strode across the deck of the ship, his golden armor gleaming in the sunlight as he approached Lansseax. The ancient dragon, in her human form, stood at the bow, her silver hair whipping in the sea breeze. As Godwyn drew near, she turned to face him, her dragon horns catching the light.
"What news from our scout?" Lansseax asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern.
Godwyn sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It seems our reception may be less than warm. The Leyndell Knights are... skeptical, to say the least."
Lansseax raised an eyebrow. "Skeptical? Of their own lord's return?"
"Indeed," Godwyn replied, leaning against the ship's railing. "Our scout's background as a former Gelmir Knight didn't help matters. They've dismissed his words as those of a 'snake,' unwilling to abandon their posts without seeing me with their own eyes."
Lansseax's expression hardened. "After all this time, they still cling to old rivalries. It's... disappointing."
Godwyn nodded, his gaze distant as he watched the waves. "I understand their caution, but I had hoped... Well, it matters not. We'll face whatever welcome awaits us."
"Do you think there will be trouble?" Lansseax asked, her hand unconsciously moving to the hilt of her weapon.
Godwyn turned to her, a small smile playing on his lips. "Trouble? I think not. But we must approach this delicately. These men have held their posts for untold years, believing me dead. Their loyalty is admirable, even if it now presents a challenge."
He paused, his expression growing more serious. "I'm glad you're here with me. Your presence is... comforting."
Lansseax felt a flutter in her chest at his words, but before she could respond, the ship's captain called out.
"Land ho! We approach the shore, Lord Godwyn!"
Godwyn straightened, his demeanor shifting to that of a leader. "Very well. Prepare the men. We know not what awaits us, but we shall meet it with in equal measure."
The group disembarked from their ship, climbing the rocky terrain near the village of Dominula. An elevator, constructed recently, led from some newly built docks up to the village proper. As they ascended, Godwyn observed the surrounding area with keen interest.
Upon reaching the village, they found it eerily quiet, just as it had been during their previous encounter. The only occupants were the lifeless bodies scattered about, grim reminders of past conflicts.
They pressed on, making their way towards the Azuria Hero's Grave where the Leyndell Knights were reportedly stationed. As they traveled, the ruined village of Stormcaller came into view on the horizon. Godwyn's pace faltered slightly at the sight.
Lansseax, noticing his hesitation, moved closer. "Godwyn," she said softly, "I understand why you might want to visit. It's where we laid Morgott and Mohg to rest after..."
She trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. The memory of that day hung heavily between them.
Godwyn nodded, his golden eyes fixed on the distant ruins. "Yes. I think... I think we should take a detour. Pay our respects before we face whatever awaits us at the Hero's Grave."
The group altered their course, heading towards Stormcaller. As they approached, the atmosphere grew somber, each step bringing them closer to a painful piece of recent history.
Godwyn stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the vast expanse of scorched earth before him. The once-vibrant landscape was now a stark reminder of the devastating battle against the Godskin Monarch. His mind replayed the horrific moment when Malenia, ever the protective sister, threw herself in front of Miquella to absorb the Monarch's full, devastating attack.
"It still feels like yesterday," Godwyn murmured, his voice barely audible.
Lansseax moved closer, her presence a silent comfort. "The pain of loss never truly fades, does it?"
Godwyn shook his head, his golden eyes reflecting a deep sorrow. "No, it doesn't. Seeing Malenia fall that day... it tore something inside me. Even though Magnus brought her back, the memory haunts me still."
He turned to Lansseax, his expression a mixture of gratitude and determination. "I'll only be a moment. I need to... I need to see them."
Lansseax nodded understanding. "Take all the time you need. We'll be here."
Godwyn made his way to the simple graves of Morgott and Mohg. The markers were weathered now, testament to the time that had passed since that fateful day. He knelt before them, his armor creaking softly as he settled onto the ground.
For a long while, he remained silent, his head bowed.
Finally, Godwyn spoke, his voice low and filled with emotion. "Morgott... Mohg... I'm sorry. Sorry I wasn't there for you when you needed me most. Sorry that our family was torn apart by forces beyond our control." He paused, taking a deep breath. "I hope you've found peace, brothers. Despite everything, I believe you deserved that much."
He rose slowly, casting one last look at the graves. "Rest well. I'll carry your memory with me, always."
He got up and returned to the others, casting one final glance back.
"Are you ready?" she asked gently.
Godwyn nodded, his gaze now fixed on the path ahead. "Yes. We have a duty to fulfill, and loyal knights to reclaim. Let's not keep them waiting any longer."
With that, the group set off towards the Azuria Hero's Grave, leaving behind the ghosts of the past.
As they navigated the broken landscape, Godwyn's keen eyes noticed the additional fortifications around the grave's exterior. He spotted lookouts positioned strategically, their vigilant gazes scanning the surroundings.
Suddenly, Godwyn sensed movement. Raising a hand, he calmly ordered, "Stand down, men."
His companions exchanged confused glances, but their bewilderment was short-lived. In a matter of seconds, eight Leyndell Knights materialized around them, executing a flawless ambush.
Three knights stood at the forefront, their shields raised and spears at the ready. An archer perched atop a nearby rock, his lightning arrow drawn and aimed precisely. The remaining knights covered all possible escape routes, using the terrain to their advantage.
Golden lightning crackled along their weapons, the air thick with static as they used their powers to create an impenetrable barrier around Godwyn's group.
The lead knight's voice rang out, authoritative and unwavering. "Lay down your arms, intruders!"
To everyone's surprise, Godwyn let out a hearty laugh. He began removing his weapons, gesturing for his companions to do the same. "Well executed, my friends," he called out, his voice warm with approval. "A perfect implementation of the tactic. It's good to see the old training still holds true."
The knights exchanged glances, some confused by Godwyn's familiarity. The younger ones, clearly recruited after Godwyn's supposed death, looked to their leader for guidance.
The lead knight stepped forward, his stance still defensive but his eyes narrowing as he studied Godwyn's face. There was a flicker of recognition, mixed with disbelief.
"It... it can't be," the knight murmured, his voice barely audible.
Godwyn smiled, spreading his arms in a non-threatening gesture. "Captain Aldric, isn't it? You were just a fresh recruit when I last saw you. Your beard has grown quite impressive since then."
Captain Aldric's eyes widened. "Lord Godwyn? But... how? We thought you dead these many years."
"It's a long story, old friend," Godwyn replied, his tone growing serious. "One I'd be happy to share, along with news of great importance. But perhaps we could continue this conversation in more comfortable surroundings?"
The younger knights looked on in confusion and awe as their captain slowly lowered his weapon, shock evident on his face.
"Men," Aldric called out, his voice slightly shaky, "lower your weapons. It seems... it seems our lord has returned to us."
As the lightning dissipated and the knights cautiously relaxed their stances, Godwyn turned to his companions with a reassuring nod. Lansseax, who had remained calm throughout the encounter, gave him a subtle smile of approval.
"Now then," Godwyn said, addressing the still-stunned Leyndell Knights, "shall we go inside? We have much to discuss about the state of the Lands Between and the challenges that lie ahead."
As they entered the Azuria Hero's Grave, Godwyn marveled at the transformation. The once-dark and treacherous tomb now stood as a brightly lit, intricate fortress. Every corner was illuminated, revealing a labyrinth of passages and chambers.
"Impressive," Godwyn remarked, his eyes roaming the renovated interior. "You've certainly been busy."
Aldric nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "We've made it our home and stronghold. Every trap disarmed, every monster vanquished."
As they navigated the maze-like corridors, Godwyn turned to Aldric. "Tell me, who leads you now?"
"That would be Commander Kristian, my lord," Aldric replied.
Godwyn's brow furrowed slightly. "Kristian? I'm not familiar with that name."
Aldric's eyes widened in realization. "Ah, of course. My apologies, Lord Godwyn. Commander Kristian was born shortly after... well, after your passing."
Surprise flashed across Godwyn's face. "A younger knight in command? How did he surpass more seasoned warriors like yourself?"
Aldric let out a hearty chuckle. "Ah, Kristian earned every bit of his rank. He proved himself time and again during the Shattering and The Fall. When his father fell, Kristian stepped up and led us through the darkest times."
"His father?" Godwyn inquired, his interest piqued.
Aldric's expression softened. "Yes, my lord. His father was Kristoff."
Godwyn stopped in his tracks, a flood of memories washing over him. "Kristoff? One of my most trusted companions?"
Aldric nodded solemnly. "The very same, my lord. Kristoff spoke often of you, even in his final days. He raised Kristian on tales of your valor and leadership."
Godwyn's voice grew quiet, tinged with emotion. "Kristoff, old friend... I wish I could have seen him one last time."
Lansseax, walking close behind, placed a comforting hand on Godwyn's shoulder. "It seems his legacy lives on through his son," she said softly.
Godwyn nodded, composing himself. "Indeed. I look forward to meeting this Commander Kristian. If he's half the man his father was, you've been in good hands."
Godwyn listened intently as Aldric recounted their history, his expression a mixture of pride and sorrow. "You've all endured so much," he said softly.
Aldric nodded, his voice filled with a mix of nostalgia and determination. "Indeed, my lord. After Morgott fell to the Tarnished, we were directionless for a time. But when the Frenzied Flame took hold, Kristoff became our beacon. Though half our number did manage to find the Queen."
A wistful smile crossed Godwyn's face. "That sounds like Kristoff. Always ready to rally the troops, even in the darkest hours."
"You should have seen it, my lord," Aldric continued, his eyes shining with the memory. "Kristoff's call echoed across the Lands Between. Knights who had been scattered to the winds during the Shattering all returned, united in purpose. It was... glorious."
Godwyn's smile faltered slightly, knowing the outcome couldn't have been as triumphant as the buildup. "And the assault on Leyndell? What transpired?"
Aldric let out a rueful laugh. "Ah, well, that's where things took an unexpected turn. We never even reached the city."
Godwyn's brow furrowed. "How so?"
"The Frenzied Flame," Aldric explained, shaking his head in disbelief. "It severed the very land beneath Leyndell, separating it from the rest of Altus Plateau. By the time we arrived, the city was unreachable."
"By the Erdtree," Godwyn muttered,"you were there when it happened?"
Aldric's expression hardened with resolve. "We kept fighting, my lord. For years under Kristoff's leadership, and then under his son's. We may not have reclaimed Leyndell, but we've protected what we could, fought against any who threatened the innocent or the remnants of order in the Lands Between."
Godwyn placed a hand on Aldric's shoulder, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You've done the Leyndell Knights proud, all of you. Kristoff would be honored by your dedication, as am I."
As they approached the command center, Godwyn's mind raced with thoughts of reuniting these loyal knights with their purpose, of the battles yet to come. "Tell me, Aldric," he said, his voice low and serious, "what do you know of recent events? Of the gathering of the demigods, of the new threats rising?"
Aldric's expression grew curious. "We've heard whispers, my lord, but little concrete information reaches us here. Perhaps it's time you enlightened us on what's truly happening in the Lands Between."
Godwyn nodded, his resolve strengthening. "Indeed, it is. But first, I believe it's time I met Commander Kristian. We have much to discuss about the future of the Leyndell Knights and the role they – we – must play in the coming struggles."
As they entered the war room, Godwyn and Lansseax were met with a palpable chill from Commander Kristian. Though his words were respectful, his eyes held a hint of resentment that Godwyn couldn't miss.
"Welcome, Lord Godwyn, Lady Lansseax," Kristian said, his voice formal. "What brings you to our humble fortress after all this time?"
Godwyn straightened, addressing the room. "I come with news. My siblings and I have returned, and we're gathering an army at the Haligtree. Our goal is to mount a campaign against the Frenzied Flame and purge it from the Lands Between."
Kristian nodded slowly. "A noble goal, to be sure. But I wonder, why come to us now? Where were you when we needed leadership most?"
Godwyn's expression softened. "I believed the Leyndell Knights to be scattered beyond recall or... gone entirely. I see now I was mistaken, and I regret not seeking you out sooner."
Kristian's gaze hardened as it fell on the former Gelmir Knight. "And yet you align yourself with serpents. Why should we follow you when you keep such company?"
Godwyn stepped forward, his voice firm. "This man has proven his loyalty and honor. The past does not define us; it's our actions now that matter."
Kristian's jaw clenched, clearly agitated by Godwyn's defense. Before he could respond, the door opened, and another knight entered.
"Ah, my second in command-" Kristian began, but his introduction was cut short.
The newcomer's eyes widened in recognition. "Lord Godwyn?"
Godwyn's face lit up. "Galahad? By the Erdtree, is that you?"
Before anyone could react, Godwyn and Galahad embraced like old friends reunited.
Godwyn turned to the stunned room, his arm still around Galahad's shoulders. "This man was one of the first knights I ever welcomed into the Dragon Cult. Galahad, old friend, I never thought I'd see you again."
Galahad, his weathered face creased with a broad smile, nodded. "Nor I you, my lord. When we heard rumors of your return, I scarcely dared to hope..."
Kristian watched this exchange, his expression a mix of surprise and growing unease. The atmosphere in the room had shifted dramatically with this unexpected reunion.
Godwyn, sensing the tension, addressed Kristian directly. "Commander, I understand your reservations. But I hope this demonstrates that the bonds we forged in the past still hold strong. I'm here not to command, but to reunite. To offer the Leyndell Knights a chance to be part of something greater once more."
Kristian's stern demeanor wavered slightly, torn between his ingrained suspicion and the obvious rapport between Godwyn and Galahad. "I... see. Perhaps we have much to discuss, Lord Godwyn."
Godwyn listened intently as Kristian spoke, his face a mask of understanding and patience.
"I grew up on tales of Godwyn the Golden," Kristian said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "My father wouldn't stop talking about you. I want to believe you're the man from those stories, but after what your siblings did during the Shattering..." He trailed off, shaking his head.
Kristian's gaze hardened as he continued, "Let me remind you all of our battle at Mt. Gelmir. The most gruesome fight of the Shattering, led by my father." He pointed at the former Gelmir Knight. "His kind committed unspeakable atrocities against us. I watched friends I'd trained with die that day."
Godwyn stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "This man has forsworn his allegiance to Rykard. He's not the same person who fought at Mt. Gelmir."
Kristian let out a harsh laugh. "Oh, and I suppose we're to ally with the Blasphemous Praetor Rykard now?"
"Commander!" Aldric and Galahad exclaimed in unison, shocked at Kristian's disrespect.
Godwyn's expression turned cold. "You're right about one thing, Kristian. Rykard was indeed a menace." He paused, emphasizing his next words. "He *was* a menace. Rykard is dead."
A hush fell over the room. Kristian's eyes widened. "Dead? How?"
"Slain by his own brothers, Radahn and Magnus," Godwyn replied evenly.
The room erupted in murmurs of shock and confusion. Kristian raised a hand, silencing his men. "Magnus? Is that the new demigod we've heard about? The one with wings?"
Godwyn nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Yes, that's him. My youngest brother, born after my... absence. He's proven himself a formidable warrior and a compassionate leader."
Kristian's demeanor softened slightly, curiosity overcoming his initial hostility. "We've heard tales... They say he wields a power unlike any seen before. Is it true?"
"It is," Godwyn confirmed. "Magnus possesses the Rune of Life, a power that has allowed him to heal lands ravaged by war and even bring back those thought lost forever."
The room fell silent as the knights processed this information. Godwyn seized the moment to press his point.
"I understand your skepticism, Kristian. The Shattering tore our world apart, and the actions of my siblings caused immeasurable pain. But things have changed. We're united now, working to undo the damage and face the greater threat of the Frenzied Flame."
Galahad stepped forward, addressing Kristian. "Commander, I've known Lord Godwyn longer than any of us. If he says they've changed, I believe him. This could be our chance to make a real difference."
Kristian looked around the room, seeing the hopeful expressions on his men's faces. He turned back to Godwyn, his stance less rigid than before. "You speak of unity and redemption, Lord Godwyn. But trust is earned, not given. If what you say is true, prove it to us. Show us that this alliance is worth the risk."
Godwyn nodded solemnly. "I understand, Commander. And I welcome the chance to earn your trust."
Godwyn followed Kristian deeper into the grave, his unease growing with each step. Aldric and Galahad exchanged worried glances before hurrying after them.
"Commander, please," Aldric pleaded, "don't ask Lord Godwyn to do this."
Galahad added, "There must be another way to—"
Kristian whirled on them, his eyes blazing. "If our lord wishes to prove himself worthy of our trust again, then he can be the one to put them down."
Godwyn's brow furrowed. "Put who down?"
They reached a heavy cell door, and Kristian's hand hesitated on the latch. "Your own personal guard, my lord," he said, his voice heavy with a mix of anger and sorrow.
As Kristian opened the slit, Godwyn peered inside. His eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. What were once his loyal men, his friends, were now skeletal abominations. Their armor, once gleaming gold, was now tarnished and fused to their bones. Empty eye sockets glowed with an unholy light.
"By the Erdtree," Godwyn whispered, stumbling back. "What... what happened to them?"
Kristian's voice was grim. "My father told me that after they failed to protect you during the Night of Black Knives, they swore to protect your new form—the Prince of Death. They became... this."
Godwyn's mind reeled. "But we've slain the Prince of Death. Shortly after my siblings brought me back, we—"
"That may be true," Kristian interrupted, "but these Death Knights remain. They returned about a decade ago. We... we lost many good men putting them down."
Godwyn caught the note of personal loss in Kristian's voice. He looked at the young commander, understanding dawning. "Is that how your father died?"
Kristian's only response was a curt nod, his jaw clenched tight.
The gravity of the situation settled heavily on Godwyn's shoulders. These were not just any corrupted soldiers—they were his men, sworn to him, transformed by their loyalty into these nightmarish creatures. And now, their existence had caused even more pain and loss.
"I... I'm sorry, Kristian," Godwyn said softly. "I never intended for any of this to happen."
Kristian's eyes met Godwyn's, a mix of challenge and desperation in them. "Then prove it. Show us that you're still the leader my father believed in. Put them to rest."
He turned to Lansseax, who had remained silent throughout the exchange. Her eyes held a mixture of sympathy and resolve. She nodded slightly, understanding the weight of the decision before him.
Godwyn took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. "Very well, Kristian. I'll do what must be done. But not out of a desire to prove myself to you. I'll do it because these men deserve peace... and because I owe them that much."
As Godwyn entered the cell, the Death Knights charged forward, their skeletal forms moving with an unnatural speed. Yet, just before their rusted blades could strike, they halted. A flicker of recognition seemed to pass through their hollow eye sockets.
In an eerie display of loyalty that transcended death, the Knights knelt before their lord. The sight was both touching and horrifying, a grim reminder of the bonds that had endured even through such a twisted transformation.
Godwyn's face was a mask of sorrow as he summoned his axe. "Rest now, old friends," he whispered. With swift, merciful strikes, he ended the torment of his two remaining personal guards. The golden light that had burned in their eye sockets faded, and their forms crumbled to dust.
Emerging from the chamber, Godwyn's eyes met Kristian's. "Is that proof enough?" he asked, his voice heavy with the weight of what he'd just done.
Kristian shrugged, but his posture had softened slightly. "It's proof enough for me to follow you, at least. But to truly believe in you and your siblings' change of heart? That I'll need to see for myself."
Godwyn nodded solemnly. "That's fair. Thank you, Kristian."
Kristian turned to address his men. "Everyone, begin packing. We're heading to the Haligtree soon." Then, turning back to Godwyn, he added, "My lord, a moment of your time in private, if you will."
As they entered the war room, Kristian closed the door behind them. The two men stood facing each other, the tension from earlier still lingering, but tempered now by a grudging respect.
"What is it you wished to discuss, Commander?" Godwyn asked.
Kristian took a deep breath, seemingly gathering his thoughts. "My lord, I... I want you to understand something. My harshness, my doubt – it's not just about you. It's about protecting these men, continuing my father's legacy."
Godwyn nodded, encouraging him to continue.
"Those Death Knights... they were more than just a threat. They were a reminder of how loyalty can be twisted, how even the noblest intentions can lead to ruin." Kristian's voice grew quieter. "When they returned and we lost my father... it shook us all. I've spent years trying to hold everyone together, to give them purpose."
"You've done well, Kristian," Godwyn said softly. "Your father would be proud."
Kristian's eyes met Godwyn's, a mix of emotions swirling in them. "I hope so. But now... now you're asking us to believe again, to fight for a greater cause. I need to know – truly know – that this isn't just another path to destruction."
Godwyn stepped forward, placing a hand on Kristian's shoulder. "I understand your caution, and I respect it. What happened in the past... it weighs heavily on me. But I swear to you, on my honor and on the memory of your father, that what we're building now is different. We're not seeking power or glory – we're fighting to heal this broken world."
Kristian studied Godwyn's face for a long moment before nodding. "Very well, my lord. I'll reserve my final judgment until I've seen this new alliance with my own eyes. But know this – these men, they're my responsibility now. I won't lead them into folly."
"I wouldn't expect anything less," Godwyn replied with a small smile. "Your father's wisdom clearly lives on in you."
As they prepared to rejoin the others, both men felt the shift in their dynamic. Trust was still a fragile thing between them, but the foundations for understanding had been laid. The journey to the Haligtree would be a test – not just of their strength, but of their ability to forge a new future from the ashes of the past.
As the ship sailed towards the Haligtree, Lansseax approached Godwyn on the deck. The sea breeze ruffled her silver hair as she spoke.
"Godwyn, I've learned something interesting from Galahad," she began. "It seems that after the Night of Black Knives, Kristoff actually joined the Dragon Cult."
Godwyn's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Kristoff? But he was so against the idea after the war with the ancient dragons. I remember Vyke mentioning how he tried to convince him countless times." He caught himself, realizing he'd mentioned Vyke, and quickly changed the subject. "I wonder what changed his mind."
Lansseax nodded, seemingly relieved at the shift in conversation. "It appears the tragedy affected him deeply. Perhaps he found solace in the teachings of the Dragon Cult."
A moment of silence passed between them before Godwyn turned to Lansseax, a question in his eyes. "Lansseax, where were you during all of this? If you weren't fighting alongside the Leyndell Knights or training at the Dragon Cult church..."
Lansseax sighed, her gaze drifting to the horizon. "After your death and my brother's departure, I... I found it difficult to remain in Leyndell. The memories were too painful. And then when Vyke left..." She trailed off, the weight of unspoken sorrow hanging in the air.
They both fell silent at the mention of Vyke, the knowledge of his fate casting a shadow over their conversation. The once-great Vyke, consumed by the very madness he sought to prevent, was a wound that had yet to fully heal for both of them.
Godwyn placed a gentle hand on Lansseax's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up painful memories."
Lansseax shook her head, offering a small smile. "No, it's alright. The past is part of who we are, even the painful parts. Perhaps especially those."
They stood in companionable silence for a while, watching the waves. Finally, Godwyn spoke again, his voice soft but determined. "We can't change what happened, but we can honor their memories by building a better future. Kristoff, Vyke, all of them – they believed in something greater than themselves. We owe it to them to see that vision through."
Lansseax nodded, her eyes meeting Godwyn's. "You're right. And perhaps, in time, we can find a way to heal the wounds left by the past."
Kristian approached, carrying a box and a bell, both Godwyn and Lansseax turned their attention to him. His presence seemed to dispel the somber mood that had settled over them.
"My father spoke highly of you both," Kristian said, his voice carrying a mix of pride and reverence.
Lansseax's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I always thought Kristoff didn't particularly care for me."
Kristian shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Quite the contrary. He constantly praised your efforts in Leyndell. He admired your dedication and strength."
Godwyn nodded, a warm smile spreading across his face. "Kristoff was always one to recognize true valor, even if he didn't always show it openly."
Kristian's expression grew solemn as he held up the bell. "After my father passed, we... we turned his ashes into spirit ashes. I thought you might like to see him."
With a gentle clink of the bell, a spectral form materialized before them. There stood Kristoff, his spirit now adorned in the majestic armor of a dragonknight. Though the spirit couldn't speak, its presence was powerful, radiating the same strength and dignity that Kristoff had in life.
Godwyn's breath caught in his throat. "Kristoff, old friend," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Lansseax stepped forward, her eyes shining. "You look magnificent, Kristoff. The armor suits you well."
The spirit of Kristoff seemed to stand a little taller at their words, his spectral form gleaming in the sunlight.
Kristian watched their reactions, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "He... he would have been honored to know you both approve."
Godwyn placed a hand on Kristian's shoulder. "Thank you for sharing this with us, Kristian. Your father was a great man, and it's clear his legacy lives on through you."
Lansseax nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Seeing him like this, knowing he embraced the teachings of the Dragon Cult in the end... it brings a sense of closure I didn't know I needed."
As the spirit of Kristoff faded away, a newfound understanding seemed to settle over the three of them. The past, with all its complexities and sorrows, had forged a bond between them – a bond that now held the promise of a shared future.
Kristian clutched the bell close to his chest. "I hope that together, we can live up to the ideals my father held dear. To protect the Lands Between and its people, just as he always strived to do."
Godwyn and Lansseax exchanged a glance, then turned back to Kristian with determined expressions. "We will," Godwyn affirmed. "Together, we'll honor Kristoff's memory and work towards the future he fought for."
As they stood there on the deck, the Haligtree growing ever closer on the horizon, the spirit of Kristoff seemed to linger, a silent guardian watching over them as they sailed towards a new chapter in the history of the Lands Between.
Weeping Penninsula
Messmer stood at the ship's railing, his pale features set in a grim expression as he gazed out at the endless sea. For 2 days, they had been sailing, the monotony broken only by the occasional cry of a seabird or the creaking of the ship's timbers.
His thoughts wandered to the Hornsent, and a wave of hatred washed over him. The atrocities they had committed in the Lands Between, the suffering they had inflicted upon his mother's people, and their role in manipulating Magnus - it all fueled a deep-seated anger within him.
"Lord Messmer!" a voice called out, snapping him from his brooding. "There's something you need to see!"
Messmer strode to the front of the ship, his armor glinting in the weak sunlight. As he reached the bow, the grim scene before him made his golden eyes narrow.
Broken vessels lay scattered across the water, their shattered hulls a testament to the violence that had unfolded here. This was undoubtedly the site where Elaine and Seroch had been ambushed.
One of the Black Knights, a warrior named Corvus, approached Messmer. "Your orders, my lord?"
Messmer's gaze shifted to the looming silhouette of Castle Morne on the horizon. "We make landfall," he declared, his voice carrying across the deck. "Tell the other ships to prepare to dock. We'll establish our base at Castle Morne and begin our hunt from there."
Messmer's hand tightened on his spear as he watched Castle Morne grow larger on the horizon. The Hornsent would pay for their crimes, he vowed silently. And any other foes that stood in their way would feel his fire.
As Messmer and his forces made landfall at Castle Morne, they were greeted by an unexpected sight. The courtyard bustled with activity, a mix of demi-humans and humans working side by side to repair and fortify the ancient stronghold.
Messmer's golden eyes swept across the scene, recognition dawning as he spotted familiar faces among the crowd. These were warriors who had stood with him and his siblings against the Triarchy, their loyalty apparently extending beyond the battlefield.
A demi-human approached, bowing her head respectfully. "Lord Messmer, welcome to Castle Morne. We're honored by your presence."
Messmer nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you. I must admit, I'm surprised to see you all here. I was under the impression that Queen Magonna had relocated to Limgrave."
The demi-human's eyes widened slightly. "Ah, you're well-informed, my lord. Indeed, Queen Magonna has moved to Limgrave. We've remained behind to assist in the reconstruction efforts."
Curiosity piqued, Messmer pressed further. "At whose request? I wasn't aware of any plans to rebuild Castle Morne."
The demi-human shook her head, her expression apologetic. "I'm afraid I don't know all the details, my lord. All I can say is that the angel – Lord Magnus, I believe – asked Queen Magonna if she would oversee the rebuilding and fortification of the castle."
Messmer's brow furrowed, confusion evident in his features. "I see. Thank you for the information." He thought for a moment why Magnus would rebuild Castle Morne yet paid it no heed.
Corvus nodded, his armor gleaming in the weak sunlight. "What are your orders, my lord?"
Messmer's expression hardened, his mind refocusing on the task at hand. "Spread out and start gathering information. I want to know everything about the Hornsent and pirates that attacked Elaine and Seroch. Question everyone – humans, demi-humans, doesn't matter. Someone must have seen or heard something."
As his men dispersed to carry out his orders, Messmer gazed up at the looming walls of Castle Morne. The pieces of this puzzle didn't quite fit together, and he couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this situation than met the eye. But for now, the hunt for the Hornsent took priority. He would unravel the mystery of Castle Morne's reconstruction later.
Messmer and Corvus moved swiftly through the ranks of their men, responding to Queelign's call. The young fire knight stood beside an older man with weathered features, likely one of Lord Haight's retainers.
"Report," Messmer commanded, his golden eyes fixed on Queelign.
The fire knight straightened, his armor gleaming with a faint red glow. "My lord, this man serves Lord Haight. He says they've had trouble with pirates before, but he's never heard of any Hornsent in these parts."
The older man nodded, adding, "Aye, the pirates have been a thorn in our side for some time. They often make camp near the Fourth Church of Marika, just off the shore."
Messmer's expression hardened, a mix of determination and frustration crossing his features. "It seems our quarry may be more elusive than we thought. Still, these pirates might have information we need."
He turned to Corvus, issuing orders with practiced efficiency. "Prepare the men. We move out immediately."
The company set out, their armor clanking as they navigated the ruined landscape. The once-familiar terrain of the Weeping Peninsula had been twisted and warped, forcing them to take numerous detours.
Messmer led from the front, his spear at the ready as they picked their way through collapsed structures and newly formed chasms.
"By the Erdtree," Queelign muttered, narrowly avoiding a sudden drop. "What happened to this place?"
Corvus, bringing up the rear, grunted in response. "The Frenzied Flame's influence, no doubt. It's changed more than just the people."
The silhouette of the Fourth Church of Marika loomed in the distance, barely visible through the mist. Messmer raised his hand, signaling the company to halt and take cover. They spotted a patrol walking straight towards them. Messmer signaled his men to hide and prepare an ambush.
The ambush unfolded with practiced precision. Messmer's forces moved like wraiths through the mist-shrouded ruins, encircling the unsuspecting pirate patrol. In a flurry of steel and flame, they subdued the group, taking one prisoner for questioning.
They retreated to a nearby ruin, its crumbling walls offering some shelter from prying eyes. The prisoner, a scruffy man with a salt-crusted beard and weather-beaten face, was forced to his knees before Messmer.
"I'll ask once," Messmer's voice was cold as ice. "Where is the hornsent?"
The pirate's eyes darted frantically between Messmer and his men. "I... I don't know what you're talking about!"
Messmer nodded to one of his Fire Knights. The knight stepped forward, dark red flames dancing around his armored fist. The pirate's eyes widened in terror.
"Wait! Wait!" he cried out. "We didn't know! I swear on Marika's tits, we didn't know the hornsent was after demigods!"
Messmer's golden eyes narrowed, ignoring the slight to his mother despite him wanting to impale the man for it. "Explain."
The pirate swallowed hard, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush. "We're just hired muscle, see? The hornsent paid good coin for our ships and our blades. Said there was treasure to be had. Never mentioned nothing about demigods!"
"Where is the hornsent now?" Messmer demanded, his patience wearing thin.
The pirate licked his cracked lips nervously. "The old hag... she'll be at the camp by nightfall. Always comes to collect her share of the loot then."
A sudden stillness came over Messmer. "Old hag?" he repeated, his voice dangerously quiet. "This hornsent... is she known as the Grandam?"
The prisoner nodded frantically. "Aye, that's the name! Heard some of the others call her that. Gives me the creeps, she does."
Messmer turned away, his expression unreadable. The others exchanged confused glances, sensing the shift in their leader's demeanor.
Suddenly, Messmer's voice cut through the silence. "Move away."
Before anyone could react, Messmer's spear materialized in his hand, its shaft gleaming with an otherworldly light. With deadly accuracy, he hurled it at the prisoner. The weapon found its mark, embedding itself between the man's heart and lungs with a sickening thud.
The pirate's eyes bulged in shock and pain. He gasped, a wet, gurgling sound as blood began to fill his lungs. His hands scrabbled uselessly at the shaft protruding from his chest.
Corvus, recognizing what was about to happen, barked an order to Queelign. "Move lad."
As Queelign scrambled back, the spear erupted into an inferno of dark red flames. The fire seemed to have a life of its own, writhing and twisting as it consumed the prisoner. His agonized screams echoed through the ruins, quickly turning to a horrific gurgling as the flames seared his throat and lungs.
The stench of burning flesh filled the air as the fire intensified, reducing the pirate to little more than ash and blackened bone in a matter of moments. Just as quickly as it had begun, the inferno died away, leaving behind a scorched patch of earth where the prisoner had been.
In a flash of light, the spear vanished from the charred remains, reappearing in Messmer's outstretched hand. He gripped it tightly, his knuckles white against the shaft, as he stared at the smoldering remnants of the pirate.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Messmer's forces prepared for the impending assault. The air was thick with tension as they checked their weapons and armor, each warrior acutely aware of the gravity of their mission.
Amidst the preparations, Queelign sought out Corvus, his curiosity getting the better of him. The young fire knight approached the seasoned Black Knight, his voice low. "Corvus, who is this Grandam? I've never seen Lord Messmer react like that before."
Corvus glanced around before answering, his voice a gruff whisper. "I don't know much, lad, but what I do know is enough to make my blood run cold. The Grandam is an ancient hornsent elder, one of the leaders of Belurat."
Queelign's eyes widened. "Belurat? The hornsent stronghold?"
Corvus nodded grimly. "Aye. She helped orchestrate the atrocities inflicted upon the people of the Land of Shadow. The brutalities... they say the screams could be heard for miles."
Understanding dawned on Queelign's face. "No wonder Lord Messmer harbors such hatred. To face one responsible for such suffering..."
Unbeknownst to them, Messmer stood within earshot, his keen ears catching every word. His golden eyes narrowed as he listened, knowing that what Corvus shared was only a fraction of the truth. The full extent of the Grandam's crimes, and the personal vendetta that drove Messmer, remained known only to a select few.
As night fell, Messmer gathered his forces. His voice was low and intense as he addressed them. "The time has come. Remember, we face no ordinary foe. The Grandam is as cunning as she is cruel. Stay alert, watch each other's backs, and show no mercy."
With a series of hand signals, Messmer directed his troops to move out. They advanced through the darkness, their steps silent on the uneven ground. As they neared the pirate camp, the faint glow of campfires became visible through the mist.
Messmer raised his hand, bringing the group to a halt. His eyes scanned the camp, searching for any sign of their target. The weight of his spear in his hand was reassuring, a promise of the retribution to come.
As they waited for the perfect moment to strike, Messmer's mind raced with memories and long-buried emotions. This was more than a mission - it was a reckoning long overdue. And as the sounds of the unsuspecting camp drifted towards them, Messmer steeled himself for the confrontation that would finally bring his quest for vengeance to its bloody conclusion.
As the Grandam's silhouette came into view, Messmer's eyes narrowed with a cold fury. He raised his hand, then brought it down swiftly. "Attack!" he roared, his voice cutting through the night air like a blade.
The assault began with a deafening crescendo of battle cries and clashing steel. Messmer's forces surged forward, their weapons gleaming in the moonlight. The pirates, caught off guard, scrambled to defend themselves, but they were no match for the well-trained and vengeful warriors.
Corvus led a group of Black Knights, their dark armor blending with the shadows as they cut through the pirate ranks. His greatsword cleaved through flesh and bone with terrifying efficiency. One pirate lunged at him with a rusted cutlass, only to have his arm severed at the elbow. The man's scream was cut short as Corvus's blade found his throat, sending a spray of crimson across the sand.
Nearby, Queelign and his fellow Fire Knights unleashed hell upon their foes. Jets of dark red flame erupted from their hands, engulfing pirates in searing agony. The air filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh and hair. One unfortunate soul caught the full brunt of Queelign's inferno, his skin blistering and peeling away as he howled in torment, collapsing into a smoldering heap.
Messmer himself was a whirlwind of destruction, his spear a blur of motion as he carved a path through the chaos. He impaled one pirate through the chest, lifting the man off his feet before hurling him into his comrades. Another rushed him with an axe, only to have Messmer sidestep the clumsy attack and drive his spear through the man's eye socket with a sickening crunch.
The battle raged on, the sand turning crimson beneath their feet. Pirates fell by the dozen, their bodies piling up in grotesque heaps. Some tried to flee, only to be cut down from behind or incinerated by gouts of magical flame.
Amidst the carnage, Messmer caught sight of the Grandam making her escape. "She's getting away!" he bellowed, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "To the ships!"
The Grandam, was racing towards a ship moored at the far end of the beach. Messmer and his forces gave chase, cutting down any pirates foolish enough to stand in their way.
As they neared the water's edge, Queelign saw an opportunity. With a focused burst of will, he sent a massive fireball hurtling towards the Grandam's ship. The vessel erupted into flames, its dry timbers catching fire with explosive force. The heat was so intense that even at a distance, the warriors could feel it searing their skin.
The Grandam skidded to a halt, her escape route now a blazing inferno. She whirled around, her ancient eyes filled with a mixture of rage and fear as she found herself cornered.
Messmer advanced, his spear dripping with blood and viscera. His golden eyes locked onto the Grandam, burning with an intensity that matched the flames consuming her ship. "Nowhere left to run, witch," he snarled, his voice filled with years of pent-up hatred.
The Grandam's gnarled hands clenched into fists as she backed away, forced to retreat towards the docks where Messmer and his men waited. The crackling of the burning ship and the moans of the dying provided a hellish backdrop to this final confrontation.
As she reached the edge of the dock, the Grandam's ancient features twisted into a sneer. "You think you've won, boy?" she cackled, her voice like grinding stones. "This is far from over."
Messmer advanced, his spear leveled at the Grandam's throat. "Speak, witch," he snarled. "Why have you come to the Lands Between?"
The Grandam's ancient eyes glittered with malice, her voice creaking like old timber. "Vengeance, boy. Vengeance for what thee and thy kin wrought upon mine people."
Messmer's face twisted with disgust. "Your people deserved extinction," he spat. "And far worse for the atrocities they committed."
A cackle erupted from the Grandam's withered lips, a sound like dry leaves rustling in a graveyard. "Fool! Thy hopes to vanquish the Frenzied Flame be naught but dust in the wind. How canst thou hope to defeat a god?"
She raised her gnarled hands, her voice rising to a croaking crescendo. "Soon, the Greater Will shall return! It shall reclaim its vessels, its property. And mine people... mine people shall rise anew!"
Messmer's golden eyes narrowed, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. "The Greater Will cares for nothing, old hag. Not for you, not for your wretched kind."
The Grandam's face contorted with rage, but before she could retort, Messmer struck. His spear erupted with dark red flames, engulfing the ancient hornsent in a inferno of vengeful fire.
As the flames consumed her, the Grandam's screams echoed across the water, a sound of both agony and defiance. Her withered form blackened and crumbled, but even as she burned, her voice carried one final, chilling curse.
"Mark my words, spawn of the usurper," she shrieked, her voice distorting as the fire ate away at her. "A terrible fate awaits thee family. I see it now! An angel born of fire, lightning, and stone! An angel born for the gods! Seven shall rise! The old shall face the new! The Discarded! and a godling consumed by madness!"
Her final words dissolved into an inhuman wail as the flames reduced her to nothing more than charred bone and ash. The fire died away, leaving only the lapping of waves and the heavy breathing of Messmer and his men.
Messmer stared at the smoldering remains, his face an unreadable mask. The Grandam's curse hung in the air like a poisonous mist, but whether it held any power or was merely the final spite of a dying enemy remained to be seen.
Corvus approached Messmer, his armor still spattered with blood from the recent battle. "My lord," he said, his voice gruff with exhaustion, "what are your orders now? Should we continue our search for potential allies in these lands?"
Messmer stood silent for a moment, his golden eyes fixed on the ashes of the Grandam as they scattered in the sea breeze. Finally, he turned to face Corvus, his expression resolute.
"Yes," he nodded, "we'll return to our ships and search down the coast. But our time is not infinite, Corvus. If we see no promising signs within a day or two, we must return to the Haligtree."
He gazed out over the darkened waters, his voice low but firm. "Our siblings may have found success in their own missions. We cannot afford to linger here if there are no allies to be found."
Corvus saluted, understanding the urgency in Messmer's tone. "As you command, my lord. I'll inform the men to prepare for departure."
As Corvus moved to relay the orders, Messmer remained at the edge of the dock, his mind already racing with plans for their coastal search. The weight of their mission pressed heavily upon him, but the elimination of the Grandam had been a significant victory. Now, they needed to capitalize on that success and find the allies they so desperately needed in the fight against the Frenzied Flame.
"Prepare to sail within the hour," Messmer called out to his assembled forces. "We have much ground to cover, and little time to do it."
With renewed purpose, Messmer's troops began the process of boarding their ships, leaving behind the smoldering remnants of the pirate camp and the echoes of the Grandam's final curse.
Caelid:
The ship cut through the choppy waters, its sails billowing in the salty breeze. Malenia stood at the bow, her golden prosthetics gleaming in the sunlight as she gazed unblinkingly at the horizon. Radahn's massive form cast a shadow over the deck as he approached, his red mane flowing behind him.
Elaine, her armor clanking softly, approached the two demigods. "My lady, Lord Radahn," she said with a slight bow. "We'll be making landfall in Limgrave within the hour."
Malenia barely turned her head. "Noted," she replied, her voice as cold as the sea spray.
Elaine hesitated, then retreated, leaving the siblings alone.
Radahn cleared his throat. "The weather's been kind to us," he ventured. "Should make for an easy landing."
"Indeed," Malenia responded, not taking her eyes off the water.
Undeterred, Radahn tried again. "I've been thinking about our route through Caelid. There's an old watchtower that might serve as a good vantage point—"
"Whatever you deem best," Malenia cut him off, her tone flat.
Radahn's brow furrowed, concern etching deep lines in his face. He opened his mouth to speak again but thought better of it. Instead, he moved to stand beside his sister, joining her in silent contemplation of the approaching shore.
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the cry of seabirds and the lapping of waves against the hull. Radahn's eyes flickered to Malenia, noting the tension in her shoulders, the tightness around her eyes. He recognized the signs of grief, having borne witness to it in countless warriors over the years.
As the coastline of Limgrave began to take shape on the horizon, Radahn spoke softly, almost to himself. "Loss leaves a wound deeper than any blade. But even the deepest wounds can heal, given time."
Malenia's fingers tightened on the ship's railing, the only indication that she had heard him. But as they drew closer to shore.
The party trudged through the lush grasslands of Limgrave, their armor glinting under the midday sun. Malenia's determined strides kept her well ahead of the group, her red hair a beacon against the green landscape.
Elaine fell back, matching her pace to Radahn's thunderous footsteps. She glanced up at the towering demigod, her voice low. "My lord, has Lady Malenia spoken to you at all?"
Radahn shook his head, his expression grim. "Barely a word, I'm afraid."
Elaine's shoulders sagged. "I feared as much. She's never been one for lengthy conversation, but this..." She trailed off, her eyes fixed on Malenia's distant figure. "I worry for her, especially after... after what happened with young Rhaegon."
Radahn's face darkened at the mention of his unborn nephew. "Aye, it's been hard on them both. I've seen it before - hearts hardening like steel after such a loss. Magnus and Malenia, they're both changed by this."
"What can we do?" Elaine asked, her voice tinged with frustration.
"Be there," Radahn replied simply. "Support them, even in silence. When we reach Caelid and our paths diverge, it'll fall to you, Elaine. You'll need to be more than just her commander. Be her confidant, her keeper if need be."
Elaine nodded solemnly. "I understand, my lord. I'll do my best."
Unbeknownst to them, Malenia's keen hearing picked up every word. Her steps didn't falter, but her hand tightened on the hilt of her blade. A mix of emotions played across her face - anger at being discussed like a child, grief at the reminder of her loss, and a flicker of gratitude for their concern.
As they approached a ridge overlooking a vast expanse of the Mistwood, Malenia suddenly stopped. She whirled around, her eyes flashing with barely contained rage.
"Do you think me so weak?" she hissed, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "That I need to be coddled and watched over like some fragile child?"
Radahn and Elaine froze, caught off guard by her sudden outburst.
"Sister, we didn't mean—" Radahn began, but Malenia cut him off.
"I am Malenia, Blade of Miquella," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I have known rot, I have known war, I have known loss. Do not presume to understand my grief or how I should bear it."
Elaine stepped forward, her voice steady despite her obvious discomfort. "My lady, we only wish to support you—"
"Then support me by focusing on our mission," Malenia snapped. "Not by whispering behind my back like gossiping handmaidens."
Radahn and Elaine quickly moved to catch up with Malenia, both opening their mouths to apologize.
"My lady, we didn't mean to—" Elaine began.
"Sister, please understand—" Radahn started simultaneously.
Malenia raised a hand, silencing them both. Her voice was sharp and controlled as she spoke. "I may have lost a child, but that does not mean I need to be coddled like one."
She turned to Elaine, her golden eyes narrowing. "Your duty is to be my commander and to follow orders, not to be my keeper. Is that clear?"
Elaine straightened, her face a mask of professionalism. "Yes, my lady."
Malenia then fixed her gaze on Radahn. "And you, brother. You have your own mission to focus on. That should be your sole concern."
Radahn nodded, his expression solemn. "Understood, Malenia. I meant no disrespect."
A tense silence fell over the group as Malenia regarded them both for a moment longer. Then, without another word, she turned and resumed her march.
"We make for Fort Haight," she announced, her tone businesslike. "Kenneth Haight should still be there."
Radahn and Elaine exchanged a quick glance before falling in line behind Malenia. The rolling hills of Limgrave gradually gave way to more rugged terrain as they approached the eastern reaches of the region.
In the distance, the weathered stone walls of Fort Haight began to take shape against the horizon. As they drew closer, they could make out the banners of House Haight fluttering in the breeze, a welcome sight in these uncertain times.
As they approached Fort Haight, the gates swung open, revealing Kenneth Haight himself. The nobleman strode out to meet them, his elaborate attire a stark contrast to their battle-worn gear.
"Well, well! What brings such esteemed guests back to my humble fort?" Kenneth called out, his voice carrying a hint of surprise and curiosity.
Malenia stepped forward, her posture regal despite the long journey. "Lord Haight, we're on a mission to Caelid. We seek to gather lost allies in the fight against the Frenzied Flame."
Kenneth's eyebrows shot up. "Caelid? That's no small undertaking. Do you require an escort? I could spare some men—"
Radahn shook his head, a small smile on his face. "We appreciate the offer, old friend, but we'll manage. Your support here in Limgrave is crucial enough."
"As you wish," Kenneth replied with a nod. "Safe travels, then. May the Greater Will guide your path."
With brief farewells exchanged, the group pressed on, leaving Fort Haight behind. They ascended the rolling hills, the landscape gradually shifting from Limgrave's lush greenery to the new jungles of Caelid.
As they reached the border, marked by a stark change in the land itself, Radahn and Malenia's groups prepared to part ways. The siblings faced each other, the weight of their separate missions hanging between them.
"This is where we divide our forces," Malenia stated, her voice steady and professional.
Radahn nodded, his massive form casting a long shadow in the new light of Caelid. "Indeed. May your search be fruitful, sister."
For a moment, the tension from earlier seemed to soften. Malenia's eyes met Radahn's, a flicker of their shared history passing between them. "And you, brother. Be vigilant. Caelid has changed much since our last visit."
"As have we all," Radahn replied softly.
With a final nod, Malenia turned, leading her Cleanrot Knights deeper into Caelid. Radahn watched them go, his expression a mix of concern and pride. He cast one last glance at Malenia's retreating form, her red hair a beacon against the desolate landscape.
As she disappeared from view, Radahn turned to his own troops. "Come," he commanded, his voice carrying across the twisted plains. "We have our own path to follow."
With that, the two groups diverged, each venturing into the heart of Caelid, unaware of the challenges that awaited them in this land.
Radahn's golden eyes scanned the landscape before him, marveling at the transformation of Caelid. Where once there had been a nightmarish expanse of scarlet rot and decay, now stood a lush, vibrant paradise. Verdant foliage carpeted the ground, and towering trees with peculiar, twisted trunks reached towards the sky. The air, once thick with the stench of rot, now carried the sweet scent of exotic flowers.
"By the Erdtree," one of his soldiers murmured, "it's beautiful."
Radahn nodded, but his expression remained guarded. "Beautiful, yes, but not without danger. Magnus warned of the beasts that still roam these lands. Stay alert."
As if to emphasize his point, a distant roar echoed across the transformed wilderness, causing several of his men to tense up.
"Forward," Radahn commanded, his massive form leading the way. "The Caelid Waypoint Ruins await us."
They pressed on through the new growth, the ruins gradually coming into view. Once a crumbling testament to the ravages of the Scarlet Rot, the structure now stood partially reclaimed by nature, vines and flowers weaving through the ancient stonework.
As they approached, Radahn noticed movement among the ruins. He raised a hand, signaling his troops to halt.
"Sellians," he muttered, recognizing the distinct blue glow of sorcery emanating from the figures. "But are they friend or foe?"
Radahn approached the ruins, his imposing figure drawing the immediate attention of the Sellian sorcerers. Many of them lowered their staves, recognition dawning on their faces.
One of the elder sorcerers stepped forward, his blue robes shimmering with arcane energy. "Lord Radahn," he greeted, his voice a mix of respect and wariness. "Have you come to persuade us to abandon our duty, as your scouts attempted?"
Radahn's golden eyes swept over the group before settling on the speaker. "Indeed, I have come after our scouts' failure. But tell me, what duty do you intend to uphold in this changed land?"
The sorcerer straightened, pride evident in his stance. "We are the guardians of Sellia's secrets. Our duty is to protect the knowledge and power contained within the city's walls."
Another sorcerer, younger and more agitated, spoke up. "We've been trying to re-enter the city for some time now, but a fearsome beast blocks our path. It's unlike anything we've encountered before."
Radahn's brow furrowed, his tactical mind already assessing the situation. "This beast... it prevents you from fulfilling your duty?"
The elder sorcerer nodded solemnly. "It does, my lord. We've lost good men trying to overcome it."
A moment of contemplation passed before Radahn spoke again, his voice carrying the weight of a proposition. "If I were to aid you in slaying this beast, would you then consider joining us at the Haligtree?"
The sorcerers exchanged glances, a mix of hope and uncertainty on their faces. After a brief, hushed discussion, the elder turned back to Radahn.
"If you can indeed help us overcome this obstacle, Lord Radahn, then yes. We would be willing to join your cause at the Haligtree. Our knowledge could prove invaluable in the struggles to come."
Radahn nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then we have an accord. Show me to this beast, and together, we shall clear the path to Sellia."
The sorcerers began to gather their equipment, a new energy infusing their movements. Radahn turned to his own troops, issuing quick orders to prepare for battle.
As they readied themselves to face the unknown creature guarding Sellia, Radahn couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. It had been too long since he'd faced a worthy opponent in combat. Whatever this beast was, he was determined to overcome it, securing both the path to Sellia and new allies for their cause.
As Malenia and her Cleanrot Knights made their way through the transformed wilderness of Caelid, they encountered various creatures, remnants of the land's troubled past. After dispatching yet another mutated beast, Elaine sighed heavily.
"I certainly didn't miss this part of Caelid," she muttered, wiping her blade clean.
Malenia glanced at her commander, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. The comment had stirred memories of a time she knew little about - the period after her defeat and before her resurrection. She opened her mouth to inquire further but hesitated as the cave the scouts had described came into view.
As they approached the ominous entrance, Malenia decided to voice her thoughts. "Elaine," she began, her tone uncharacteristically hesitant, "what was it like... after I fell to the Tarnished? When my daughters emerged as Scarlet Valkyries and assumed command?"
Elaine's steps faltered, and a shadow passed over her face. She was silent for a moment, clearly wrestling with difficult memories.
"My lady, it was..." Elaine paused, choosing her words carefully. "After your defeat, chaos reigned. None of us could believe it had happened. We were lost, directionless."
She took a deep breath before continuing. "And then the Valkyries appeared. Your daughters, but... not as we know them. It's... hard to recall clearly. Everything from that point is a blur, like a fever dream."
Elaine's brow furrowed, a hint of frustration in her voice. "I suspect the God of Rot had a hand in it all. Our memories, our actions... it feels as though we were puppets, dancing to an unseen tune."
Malenia listened intently, her golden eyes fixed on Elaine. The pain and guilt in her commander's voice were palpable.
"You needn't blame yourself, Elaine," Malenia said softly. "The Rot's influence is... insidious. I know that better than most."
Elaine nodded gratefully, but the tension didn't fully leave her shoulders. "Thank you, my lady. It's a relief to have you back, truly back, leading us once more."
As they entered the cave, the familiar stench of rot assaulted their senses. A narrow, makeshift walkway snaked through the decay, offering a precarious path forward. Malenia led her group along this route, her keen senses alert for any sign of danger.
They entered a larger chamber, and in an instant, Malenia's blade was drawn, meeting the weapon of an unseen assailant. But as quickly as the confrontation began, it ended. Recognition flashed in both their eyes, and weapons lowered.
"Lady Malenia?" the Cleanrot Knight gasped, her voice a mix of shock and reverence.
Malenia nodded, taking in the sight of the familiar armor. "You are one of mine," she stated, her eyes scanning the chamber. Nearly twenty more Knights emerged from hiding spots, along with a handful of commoners and other survivors.
"What is your name?" Malenia asked the knight before her.
"Elowen, my lady," the knight replied, still seeming stunned by Malenia's presence.
Elaine stepped forward past her lady. "Elowen!" The two's eyes met and there was a long pause before they ran to one another and embraced. "Little sister." Elaine muttered. Elowen was crying into her sister's shoulder.
"I thought you were dead." Elowen said.
Malenia watched the two, the moment bringing a smile to her face.
Malenia's gaze swept over the improvised living quarters. "You've made this your home," she observed. "Are you in command here, Elowen?"
Elowen shook her head. "I... I assumed command only a couple of months ago, my lady. Before that, it was Lysandra who led us."
Malenia's eyes widened slightly at the name. "Lysandra? One of my first Cleanrot Knights?" A mixture of emotions flickered across her face - surprise, hope, concern. "Where is she now?"
Elowen hesitated, her posture stiffening. "My lady, if you'll follow me... I'll take you to her."
Malenia nodded, gesturing for Elowen to lead the way. As they moved deeper into the cave, she couldn't shake a growing sense of unease. The reaction to Lysandra's name, the hesitation in Elowen's voice - something was amiss.
They approached a secluded alcove, separated from the main chamber by a tattered curtain. Elowen paused before it, turning to Malenia with a solemn expression.
"My lady, please... prepare yourself," Elowen warned softly, before pulling back the curtain.
Malenia stepped into the alcove, the air thick with the scent of rot and sorrow. As they rounded the corner, the sound of muffled sobs grew louder. The sight that greeted them made even the battle-hardened Malenia pause.
Lysandra sat hunched in a corner, her form a testament to the ravages of the Scarlet Rot. Where once stood a proud Cleanrot Knight, now remained a shell of her former self. Her right arm ended at the elbow, her left leg was missing from the knee down, and angry red scars covered half her body. But it was what she cradled in her remaining arm that drew Malenia's gaze - a tiny infant, its skin mottled with the telltale signs of advanced rot.
Elowen approached cautiously, her voice gentle. "Lysandra, look... Lady Malenia has returned to us. She's here."
Lysandra didn't turn, her gaze fixed on the dying child in her arms. "No... no... Malenia is gone. My son is dying. There's nothing left..." Her words were a broken whisper, heavy with despair.
Malenia felt a sharp pang in her chest, the recent loss of her own unborn child still a raw wound. She stepped forward, her voice soft but firm. "Lysandra."
The familiar voice seemed to cut through Lysandra's haze of grief. She looked up slowly, her eyes widening in disbelief as they met Malenia's golden gaze. Her mouth opened, but no words came out, shock rendering her speechless.
Malenia knelt beside her old comrade, her eyes filled with compassion. "I'm here, Lysandra. I've returned."
Lysandra's lip quivered, tears streaming down her scarred face. "My... my lady?" she managed to choke out. "Is it really you?"
Gently, Malenia placed a hand on Lysandra's shoulder. "It is. I'm sorry I've been gone for so long."
Lysandra's composure crumbled entirely. She leaned into Malenia's touch, careful not to disturb the infant in her arm. "My lady... my son... the rot... I couldn't protect him..."
Malenia's gaze shifted to the child, her heart heavy with the weight of shared loss. "May I?" she asked softly, holding out her arms.
With trembling hands, Lysandra passed the baby to Malenia. As she cradled the dying infant, Malenia closed her eyes, reaching deep within herself.
As Malenia took the child in her arms, the harsh reality struck her immediately. There was no movement, no breath, no flutter of a heartbeat. The infant had already passed, likely some time ago. A wave of sorrow washed over her, mingling with her own recent loss.
Steeling herself, Malenia looked at Lysandra, her voice gentle but firm. "Lysandra... I'm so sorry. Your son... he's been gone for some time now."
Lysandra's face contorted in anguish and denial. "No! You lie! Just like the others!" She gestured wildly at Elowen and the other knights. "They all said the same, but they're wrong! You're all wrong!"
Her words began to slur together, a stream of desperate denials. "Liars... all liars... my boy lives... he lives..."
Malenia carefully passed the lifeless child to Elowen, who received it with solemn reverence. Turning back to Lysandra, Malenia knelt beside her old comrade, their faces now level. The familiar presence seemed to cut through Lysandra's hysteria, and she fell silent, her wild eyes fixing on Malenia's golden gaze.
For a moment, there was only the sound of Lysandra's ragged breathing. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she pleaded, "My lady... please... end this suffering. I can't... I can't bear it anymore."
Malenia's heart ached at the request. She placed a gentle hand on Lysandra's scarred cheek, feeling the heat of fever and the tremors of grief.
"Lysandra," Malenia began, her voice low and filled with compassion, "you've endured so much. You've fought so bravely. But this... this isn't a decision to be made in haste."
Lysandra's eyes welled with fresh tears. "Please... I'm tired. So tired..."
Malenia took a deep breath, weighing her next words carefully. The responsibility of command had never felt heavier than in this moment.
Malenia's golden eyes shimmered with a mix of sorrow and determination as she slowly unsheathed her blade. The soft scrape of metal seemed to echo in the small alcove.
"Elaine," Malenia commanded, her voice steady despite the weight of the moment, "please escort Elowen out."
Elowen's eyes widened in realization. "No! Lysandra!" she cried out, reaching towards her friend. Elaine gently but firmly guided the distraught knight away, Elowen's sobs fading as they retreated.
Lysandra had retreated into her own world again, her muttering a constant, unintelligible stream. Malenia looked down at her once-proud knight, now broken by the very rot she herself had struggled against for so long.
"Curse you, Scarlet Rot," Malenia whispered, her voice laced with bitterness. With a swift, merciful stroke, she ended Lysandra's suffering.
The silence that followed was deafening. Malenia stood motionless for a moment, honoring the sacrifice of her loyal knight. Then, composing herself, she stepped out of the alcove to face the others.
Her voice was clear and authoritative as she addressed the group. "Lysandra and her son are to be buried together. See to it immediately."
Several knights nodded solemnly and moved to carry out her orders. Malenia then approached Elowen, who was still visibly shaken by the events.
"Elowen," Malenia began, her tone softening slightly, "I know this is difficult, but we must press on. There's a reason for our presence here."
Elowen straightened, trying to regain her composure. "Yes, my lady. What brings you to us after all this time?"
Malenia's gaze swept over the assembled knights and survivors. "We've come seeking allies. The Lands Between face a great threat - the Frenzied Flame. We're gathering forces at the Haligtree to stand against it."
She paused, allowing her words to sink in. "You've all shown incredible resilience, surviving here in these harsh conditions. We need that strength now more than ever."
Elowen's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and hope. "The Haligtree still stands? And you want us to join you there?"
Malenia nodded. "Yes. Will you fight by my side once more?"
Elowen's tears flowed freely as she responded, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes, my lady. We would be honored to fight by your side again. To return home... it's more than we ever dared hope for."
The next couple of hours passed in a solemn blur as they laid Lysandra and her infant son to rest. The makeshift funeral was brief but heartfelt, a testament to the bond these survivors had forged in their isolation.
As they emerged from the cave, Malenia addressed the group, her voice carrying across the gathered knights and civilians. "We'll rendezvous with Radahn near Fort Haight in Limgrave. From there, we'll make our way to the Haligtree."
A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd at the mention of Radahn's name. Some of the knights exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by the notion of Malenia working alongside her old rival.
Before Malenia could address their concerns, a series of thunderous booms echoed across the landscape. Without hesitation, she led the charge through the twisted jungle, her troops following close behind.
They reached a rocky outcropping that offered a clear view of Sellia in the distance. What Malenia saw made her breath catch in her throat.
There, amidst the ruins of the once-great sorcerer town, a battle of epic proportions was unfolding. Radahn's imposing figure was unmistakable, his massive form dwarfed only by the monstrous creature he faced. The beast was unlike anything Malenia had ever seen in person, though tales of its kind had reached her ears.
"Astel," she breathed, her golden eyes wide with a mix of awe and concern.
The creature was a nightmarish fusion of cosmic horror and terrestrial menace. Its skeletal, insectoid body twisted and writhed, defying the laws of nature. Clusters of stars seemed to pulse within its translucent flesh, and its numerous limbs lashed out with devastating force.
Radahn and his forces, along with the Sellian sorcerers, were engaged in a fierce struggle against the otherworldly being. Gravity magic warped the battlefield, while arcane missiles streaked through the air. Yet for all their efforts, Astel seemed to shrug off their attacks, its alien physiology rendering it nearly impervious.
Malenia's mind raced, assessing the situation. She turned to her troops, her voice sharp with urgency. "We move to assist. Now!"
With a gesture, she led her forces towards Sellia, ready to turn the tide of this cosmic confrontation.
As Radahn unleashed a barrage of meteors against Astel, the air crackled with arcane energy from the Sellian sorcerers' spells. The combined assault finally brought the cosmic horror crashing to the ground, its limbs twitching in defeat.
Radahn, his massive form silhouetted against the chaotic sky, raised his twin greatswords for the killing blow. But before he could strike, a thunderous roar split the air.
A Fallingstar Beast, its crystalline hide glinting in the eerie light, charged from the ruins. It slammed into Radahn with the force of a comet, sending both titans tumbling across the battlefield. The demigod quickly recovered, grappling with the beast in a titanic struggle that shook the very foundations of Sellia.
As if summoned by the clash, figures in tattered cloaks emerged from the surrounding wilds. Their eyes gleamed with fanatical fervor as they raised crude weapons and began chanting in an otherworldly tongue.
"Worshippers!" one of the Sellian sorcerers cried out in alarm.
Radahn, still locked in combat with the Fallingstar Beast, roared over the din of battle. "Redmanes! Engage the cultists! Protect the sorcerers!"
His loyal soldiers sprang into action, their weapons clashing against those of the worshippers. The air filled with the sounds of steel on steel and the screams of the wounded.
The battlefield had transformed into utter chaos. Radahn and the Fallingstar Beast continued their earth-shaking duel at the center, while the Redmanes fought to keep the cultists at bay. The Sellian sorcerers, caught off guard by this new threat, scrambled to regroup and provide support.
Amidst the pandemonium, the fallen form of Astel stirred, its cosmic energies slowly rekindling. The tide of battle hung in precarious balance, with victory far from assured for Radahn and his allies.
As chaos reigned in Sellia, Malenia and her Cleanrot Knights crested the hill overlooking the battlefield. Without hesitation, they charged into the fray, their polished armor glinting in the otherworldly light.
Malenia's blade sang through the air as she cut a swath through the worshippers. Her movements were a deadly dance, each strike precise and lethal. Cultists fell in droves, their blood staining the already scarlet earth of Caelid.
"Cleanrot Knights, to me!" Malenia commanded, her voice carrying over the din of battle. Her loyal warriors rallied around her, their synchronized attacks overwhelming the frenzied cultists.
Meanwhile, Radahn grappled with the Fallingstar Beast, his muscles straining against its crystalline hide. With a roar that shook the very ground, he lifted the creature bodily and slammed it into a nearby ruin. The impact shattered the beast's outer shell, exposing its vulnerable core.
Seizing the opportunity, Radahn plunged both of his massive greatswords into the creature's exposed flesh. The Fallingstar Beast let out an ear-splitting shriek as its life force ebbed away, its body slowly crumbling into stardust.
With the immediate threats neutralized, Radahn and Malenia turned their attention to the stirring form of Astel. The cosmic horror was struggling to its feet, its numerous eyes fixed on the two demigods with alien malevolence.
"Together, sister?" Radahn called out, a hint of excitement in his voice.
Malenia nodded, a rare smile gracing her lips. "Let's end this abomination."
They moved in perfect synchronization, their contrasting fighting styles complementing each other flawlessly. Radahn's gravity magic pinned Astel in place, while Malenia's swift strikes severed its limbs one by one. The creature's otherworldly blood spattered across the battlefield, sizzling where it touched the ground.
Astel lashed out desperately with its remaining appendages, but the demigods were relentless. Radahn's greatswords cleaved through its skeletal structure, while Malenia's blade found the weak points between its star-studded carapace.
In a final, devastating move, Radahn used his gravity magic to lift Astel high into the air. Malenia leapt, her form a blur of motion, and drove her sword deep into the creature's core. As they descended, Radahn brought his swords down in a crushing blow, bisecting Astel from head to tail.
The cosmic horror's death throes shook the very fabric of reality. Its body exploded in a shower of stardust and viscera, raining down upon the stunned onlookers.
As the dust settled, Radahn and Malenia stood amidst the carnage, their forms silhouetted against the chaotic sky. The battlefield fell silent, save for the heavy breathing of the victorious warriors and the moans of the wounded.
The demigods had triumphed, their combined might proving more than a match for even this eldritch horror. As they turned to survey the aftermath, the weight of their shared victory hung in the air between them, a testament to the power they could wield when united.
Radahn's booming laughter echoed across the blood-soaked battlefield. "Well, sister," he called out to Malenia, his voice tinged with amusement, "the last time we were in Caelid together, we were trying to kill each other in the greatest battle of the Shattering. This is certainly a change of pace!"
Malenia's lips curled into a small smile at the memory, but it quickly faded as the weight of recent events settled back on her shoulders. She turned away, her posture stiffening as she began to walk towards her Cleanrot Knights.
After a few steps, she paused and looked back over her shoulder at Radahn. Her golden eyes gleamed with a hint of their old rivalry as she said, "Don't forget, brother... I won that battle."
Radahn's smile widened at her teasing jab. He watched as she continued walking away, both of them silently acknowledging the unspoken truth - that their legendary clash had truly ended in a stalemate, with devastating consequences for Caelid and themselves.
As Malenia rejoined her troops, Radahn turned his attention to the Sellian sorcerers. Many of them were still wide-eyed from the epic battle they had just witnessed and participated in.
"Well, my scholarly friends," Radahn addressed them, his tone jovial despite the carnage surrounding them, "I believe I've fulfilled my end of our bargain. The beast is slain, and the path to Sellia lies open before you."
The lead sorcerer stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Indeed, Lord Radahn. You have more than honored our agreement. We stand ready to honor ours."
Radahn nodded, his expression growing more serious. "Then I ask you now - will you journey with us to the Haligtree? Your knowledge and power could prove invaluable in the struggles to come."
The sorcerers exchanged glances, a mixture of excitement and apprehension on their faces. After a brief moment of silent communication, the lead sorcerer turned back to Radahn.
"We will come," he declared. "We shall collect the relics swiftly. The fate of the Lands Between is of far greater importance."
Radahn's face broke into a broad grin. "Excellent! Gather your things, then. We have a long journey ahead of us."
As the sorcerers hurried to prepare for their departure, Radahn cast one last glance in the direction Malenia had gone. Despite the tension that still existed between them, he couldn't help but feel a sense of hope. If they could work together like this, perhaps there was still a chance for the Lands Between after all.
Haligtree:
Miquella's golden eyes reflected the twinkling lights of Elphael as he gazed out the window, his small hands resting on the sill. The Haligtree, once a sanctuary for the unwanted, now bustled with life and purpose. A soft sigh escaped his lips, a mixture of contentment and concern.
His mind wandered to Magnus, his newest brother, who had been absent for a little while. The loss of Rhaegon had struck them all hard, but Magnus seemed to bear the weight of it like a physical burden. Miquella recalled the determined set of Magnus's jaw as he spread his majestic white wings and took to the sky, disappearing into the clouds above the Haligtree.
"Oh, Magnus," Miquella murmured to himself, his brow furrowing. "Where are you, brother?"
He turned from the window, his gaze falling on the various alchemical apparatus and ancient tomes scattered across his workshop. The sight usually filled him with excitement, but tonight it only reminded him of the work left undone, the mysteries still unsolved.
Miquella's thoughts drifted to Malenia, his beloved twin. Her joy at the prospect of motherhood had been palpable, a dream long thought impossible due to the curse of the Scarlet Rot. Now, with that dream shattered, Miquella couldn't help but worry about her state of mind as she journeyed with her Cleanrot Knights.
"Sister," he whispered, closing his eyes. "I hope you find strength in your mission. We need you now more than ever."
A knock at the door startled Miquella from his reverie. "Enter," he called, straightening his posture and adopting the composed demeanor expected of him.
The door creaked open, revealing one of the Cleanrot Knights who had remained behind to guard the Haligtree. "Lord Miquella," the knight said, bowing deeply. "We've spotted Lord Magnus returning. He's approaching from the northwest."
Miquella's eyes widened, a mix of relief and apprehension washing over him. "Thank you," he replied, his voice steady despite his racing thoughts. "Please, ensure he's not disturbed when he lands. I'll go to him myself."
Miquella made his way to the location where the Cleanrot Knight had reported Magnus's approach, only to find no sign of him. The knight, clearly embarrassed, offered a hasty apology. "I'm sorry, Lord Miquella. I'm not sure where Lord Magnus could have gone."
Miquella nodded, his expression unreadable. "It's fine. I know where he is." Without further explanation, he turned and headed towards the Heart of the Haligtree.
As he approached the sacred burial site, Miquella spotted Magnus's tall figure standing motionless over the freshly turned earth and roots where Rhaegon lay. Despite Miquella's silent approach, Magnus spoke without turning.
"Miquella," he said, his voice low and heavy.
Miquella stepped closer, his eyes fixed on his brother's back. "Where have you been, Magnus? We've been worried."
Magnus remained still, his gaze never leaving the grave. "I sought some solitude for a while. I needed to meditate on things."
"Did it help at all?" Miquella asked, a note of concern in his voice.
Magnus shook his head, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "No," he admitted. "It didn't ease the pain. But it reminded me of something."
Curiosity piqued, Miquella pressed, "What's that?"
"Hope," Magnus replied, finally turning to face his brother. "Hope that we can overcome this. That despite the evil in the world, there must be some good."
Miquella nodded slowly, his brilliant mind turning over the concept. "A noble ideal," he mused, his voice tinged with a mix of agreement and skepticism. "One I find myself agreeing with, despite knowing the dark times we live in."
Magnus straightened his shoulders, a look of determination crossing his face. "We should get back to work, Miquella. There's much to be done."
Miquella's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you sure, brother? Perhaps you should take more time to-"
"No," Magnus interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "I need something to do, something to keep me focused. Idle hands and an idle mind... they're not good companions right now."
Miquella studied his brother's face for a moment before nodding reluctantly. "Very well. If you insist." He paused, a glint of excitement suddenly appearing in his eyes. "Actually, we could resume our work on that theory of yours."
Magnus's eyebrow arched in surprise. "The theory? You mean the one I rambled about that drunken night back at Stormcaller?"
A small smile played on Miquella's lips. "That very same theory," he confirmed, a hint of amusement in his voice.
Intrigued, Magnus leaned in slightly. "Have you found something?"
Miquella's smile widened as he turned, gesturing for Magnus to follow. "I might have. Come, let's go to my workshop. I have some things to show you."
As they walked, Magnus felt a small spark of curiosity ignite within him. It wasn't much, but it was something to focus on besides his grief. He followed Miquella, his mind already beginning to turn over the possibilities of what his brother might have discovered.
As they entered Miquella's workshop, Magnus's eyes widened at the sight before him. Dominating the center of the room was an intricate machine, its golden gears and pipework gleaming in the soft light.
"This," Miquella announced with a hint of pride, "is the unalloyed engine. It's capable of mass-producing unalloyed gold."
Magnus circled the device, his expression a mixture of awe and excitement. "Incredible," he breathed. "Miquella, could this be... could this be a viable replacement for the grace that has abandoned the Divine Towers?"
Miquella nodded slowly, his small form dwarfed by the machine. "I believe it might be, if we were able to produce enough. The properties of unalloyed gold are unique, and in theory, they could serve a similar function to the grace we've lost."
"Is it operational?" Magnus asked, his mind already racing with possibilities.
"It has been for a couple of weeks now," Miquella replied. "I've already amassed a large reserve, but we'd require much, much more for your idea to come to fruition."
A genuine smile spread across Magnus's face, the first in what felt like ages. "Miquella, this is... this could change everything. Your brilliance might truly bring my drunken ramblings to life."
However, Miquella's expression suddenly fell, a shadow of doubt crossing his features. "I fear it may not be enough, brother," he said softly. "My curse... it may prevent me from seeing this through to completion."
Magnus's smile faded as he saw the pain in his brother's eyes. He knelt down, placing a hand on Miquella's shoulder. "Your curse hasn't stopped you yet, Miquella. We'll find a way. Together."
Miquella looked up at Magnus, a mix of hope and resignation in his gaze. "I hope you're right," he whispered. "For all our sakes."
The brothers stood there in silence for a moment, the soft whirring of the unalloyed engine filling the air around them. The potential for a breakthrough hung tantalizingly close, yet the shadow of Miquella's curse loomed large, a reminder of the challenges that still lay ahead.
As the night deepened, Magnus and Miquella continued their work in the workshop, the soft glow of alchemical apparatus and the gentle hum of the unalloyed engine providing a backdrop to their discussions.
Miquella, his small hands deftly manipulating a complex diagram, suddenly spoke up. "Magnus, do you recall Morana's vision? The one the feather showed her, of you and Godwyn in Farum Azula?"
Magnus nodded, his brow furrowing slightly. "I remember. Why do you bring it up now?"
Miquella set down his tools, turning to face his brother. "It relates to my theory about the unalloyed golden needle. I believe Farum Azula may hold the final piece we need to complete it."
"Go on," Magnus urged, intrigued.
"Well," Miquella began, his voice taking on the tone of a scholar, "we know that Farum Azula exists outside of the normal flow of time. The unalloyed gold we've created has properties that seem to resist certain laws of our world, including some aspects of time itself, but mainly used against outer god influence."
Magnus leaned in, fully engaged. "And you think there's a connection?"
Miquella nodded. "Potentially. The needle, in its current state, can ward off the influence of outer gods. But if we could infuse it with the timeless properties of Farum Azula, we might be able to create something truly remarkable."
"Something that could manipulate time itself?" Magnus asked, his eyes widening at the implications.
"Possibly," Miquella replied cautiously. "But I'm not entirely certain. The laws governing Farum Azula are complex and not fully understood. It's more of an educated guess at this point."
"It's a dangerous path," Magnus finally said. "Meddling with time itself..."
Miquella nodded solemnly. "Indeed. And we're far from certain it would even work. But given what we're up against, I believe it's worth exploring."
Magnus stood, pacing the workshop. "Morana's vision... perhaps it was more than just a glimpse of the future. Maybe it was showing us where we need to go."
"It's possible," Miquella agreed. "But Magnus, we must proceed with caution. The risks are immense."
Magnus turned to his brother, determination etched on his face. "Agreed. But so are the potential rewards. We'll need to plan carefully, gather more information. But Miquella, if there's even a chance this could work..."
Miquella nodded, a mix of excitement and apprehension in his eyes. "Then we must pursue it. For the sake of all the Lands Between."
As the night wore on, the brothers continued their discussion, weighing the risks and possibilities of their daring theory. The unalloyed engine hummed steadily in the background, a reminder of how far they'd come and how much further they might yet go.
As the night deepened, Magnus and Miquella set aside their work, choosing instead to enjoy each other's company. Miquella produced a bottle of wine, pouring generous amounts into two ornate goblets.
Magnus raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Careful, brother. We wouldn't want a repeat of the Stormcaller incident, would we?"
Miquella chuckled, handing Magnus a goblet. "Speak for yourself. Some of your best ideas come when you're three goblets drunk."
They clinked their glasses together, both taking a sip before Magnus leaned in conspiratorially. "So, tell me, are you still seeing that Albinauric woman? What was her name..?"
Miquella nearly choked on his wine, coughing and laughing simultaneously. "By the Erdtree, no! I had to put an end to that. She was getting far too... enthusiastic for my liking."
Magnus burst out laughing. "Enthusiastic? Do tell, brother."
Miquella shook his head, a blush creeping up his neck. "Let's just say she had some rather creative ideas and leave it at that."
"Oh no," Magnus wheezed, tears of mirth in his eyes. "I don't think I want to know more."
"You know," he said softly, "I've never seen a place quite like this. So full of life, of hope. It's... remarkable."
Miquella's expression softened, a hint of sadness creeping into his eyes. "I'm sorry you didn't get to experience more places like this growing up, Magnus. The world hasn't been kind to any of us, but especially not to you."
Magnus nodded, his gaze still fixed on the scene below. "Is that why you're so hopeful?" Miquella asked gently. "Because you want to see a better world?"
Magnus was quiet for a long moment, taking another sip of wine before responding. "I think so," he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful. "I've always been like this, in a way. Growing up, I heard stories of the golden age of the Erdtree, tales of a time when the world wasn't so... broken. And then, seeing all the suffering the Frenzied Flame brought... it just made me want to make things better, you know?"
He turned to face Miquella, his golden eyes shimmering with emotion. "At first, it was for Maeve. I wanted to create a safer world for her. Then, when I started bringing back the rest of you, my siblings... especially when Malenia and I grew closer..."
Magnus trailed off, his voice catching. Miquella didn't need to ask to know what his brother was about to say. The loss of Rhaegon hung heavy in the air between them.
"And then the girls," Magnus continued after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper. "Seeing them grow, watching them discover the world... it just reinforced everything. I want them to have the chance to live in a world that's not constantly on the brink of destruction."
Miquella reached out, placing a hand on Magnus's arm. "It's a noble goal, brother. And one I share. We've all seen too much suffering, too much loss. But together, perhaps we can change things."
As the night deepened, Miquella rummaged through a hidden compartment in his workshop, producing a bottle filled with an iridescent liquid. "Time to bring out the big guns," he announced with a grin.
Magnus eyed the bottle warily. "Is that what I think it is?"
"My special brew," Miquella confirmed, pouring generous amounts into their glasses. "Guaranteed to put even a demigod on their ass."
Magnus took a cautious sip and immediately coughed. "By the Erdtree! What's in this, distilled Scarlet Rot?"
Miquella cackled. "Family secret. Can't have you replicating it and becoming the favorite brother."
Several drinks later, their laughter echoed through the workshop. Magnus was attempting to balance his empty glass on his nose, while Miquella cheered him on.
"You know," Miquella slurred, pointing an accusing finger at Magnus, "I demand to know who your favorite brother is."
Magnus, caught off guard, nearly dropped the glass. "What? I don't have a favorite."
"Liar!" Miquella exclaimed. "Everyone has a favorite. Is it Radahn? It's Radahn, isn't it? He's got that whole 'I learned gravity magic to ride my horse' thing going for him."
Magnus shook his head, grinning. "Nope, not Radahn."
"Godwyn then? Mr. 'I'm so perfect even death couldn't keep me down'?"
"Wrong again," Magnus chuckled.
Miquella gasped dramatically. "Don't tell me it's Mohg. I know he's dead but Magnus, I swear if it's Mohg-"
"It's not Mohg!" Magnus interrupted, laughing. "Give me some credit."
"Then who?" Miquella demanded, leaning forward expectantly.
Magnus tried to maintain a straight face, but the alcohol made it impossible. "Fine, fine. If you must know..." He paused for dramatic effect. "It's you, you drunken fool."
Miquella's eyes widened comically. "Me? But I'm tiny! And eternally young! And I make terrible romantic decisions!"
"All true," Magnus agreed, raising his glass. "But you're also brilliant, kind, and you make a mean demigod brew. Plus, you're the only one who laughs at my terrible jokes."
Miquella pretended to wipe away a tear. "I'm touched. Truly. Though I think your standards might be a bit low."
"Hey," Magnus protested, "I'll have you know my standards are... are..." He frowned, losing his train of thought. "What were we talking about?"
Miquella burst into laughter. "I have no idea. But I'm pretty sure it was profound and world-changing."
They clinked their glasses together, nearly missing in their inebriated state. "To favorite brothers and terrible decisions!" Miquella proclaimed.
As they drained their glasses, neither could stop grinning, the weight of their responsibilities temporarily forgotten in the warm glow of brotherhood and Miquella's potent brew.
The following morning, Magnus made his way to the infirmary, his head still slightly throbbing from Miquella's potent concoction. As he entered, he immediately spotted Seroch, his loyal commander, sitting up in bed.
Seroch's appearance gave Magnus pause. A sleek, golden prosthetic had replaced his lost arm, gleaming in the soft light of the infirmary. An eyepatch covered the empty socket where his eye had once been. Despite these changes, Seroch's face bore a surprising smile.
"My lord," Seroch greeted, attempting to stand.
Magnus quickly moved to his side, gently easing him back down. "At ease, Seroch. There's no need for formalities here."
Seroch relaxed, but his smile remained. "It's good to see you, Lord Magnus."
Magnus pulled up a chair, studying his commander's face. "How are you feeling, my friend?"
"Better," Seroch replied, flexing his new prosthetic arm. "Much better, in fact. I'd like to get back to work, if you'll allow it."
Magnus shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. You need more time to recover."
"But my lord," Seroch protested, "I'm fit enough to serve. The healers have done wonders, and this new arm-"
"Seroch," Magnus interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. "Your dedication is admirable, but unnecessary. You've more than earned your rest."
Seroch opened his mouth to argue further, but Magnus held up a hand. "Besides," he added with a knowing smile, "you'll want all your strength by the time Elaine returns."
At the mention of Elaine's name, Seroch's remaining eye widened, a faint blush creeping up his neck. "Elaine? Has there been word?"
Magnus chuckled. "Not yet, but knowing her, she'll be bursting through those doors any day now, ready to fuss over you like a mother hen."
Seroch's blush deepened, but he couldn't hide his pleased expression. "She does tend to worry."
"With good reason, it seems," Magnus remarked, gesturing to Seroch's injuries. His expression sobered. "I'm sorry, Seroch. I should have been there."
Seroch's face grew serious. "No, my lord. You were where you needed to be. We all have our duties, and sometimes... sometimes the cost is high."
Magnus nodded solemnly, reaching out to clasp Seroch's shoulder. "Rest, my friend. Regain your strength. The battles ahead will need you at your best."
As Magnus stood to leave, Seroch called out, "My lord? Thank you. For everything."
Magnus turned back, a warm smile on his face. "No, Seroch. Thank you. Your loyalty and bravery are beyond measure."
As he left the infirmary, Magnus felt a mix of emotions. Sorrow for Seroch's injuries, pride in his resilience, and a renewed determination to protect those who served him so faithfully.
Miquella made his way through the bustling grounds of the Haligtree, his small form weaving between the towering structures until he reached the training grounds. There, he found Loretta overseeing a group of Albinaurics, her stern voice carrying across the field as she directed their movements.
"Loretta," Miquella called out, approaching the imposing knight. "Might I have a word?"
Loretta turned, bowing her head slightly in respect. "Of course, Lord Miquella. What can I do for you?"
Miquella's eyes scanned the group of Albinaurics before them. "I have a task of great importance. I need to send some Albinaurics to the various Divine Towers to help set up potential waygates."
Loretta's eyebrows rose in surprise. "The Divine Towers? That's quite the undertaking. What exactly are you planning?"
"All in due time," Miquella replied with a small smile. "For now, I need your help in selecting the most qualified individuals for this mission."
Together, they walked among the Albinaurics, with Loretta pointing out those with the necessary skills and experience. Once they had assembled a group, Miquella addressed them directly.
"My friends," he began, his voice carrying a warmth that belied his youthful appearance. "I have a task that would greatly benefit our efforts. It involves traveling to the Divine Towers. Would you be willing to undertake this mission?"
The Albinaurics exchanged glances before one stepped forward, speaking for the group. "We would be honored, Lord Miquella. When do we depart?"
Miquella nodded, pleased. "Thank you all. I'll be in touch once the preparations are complete. Until then, continue your training with Loretta."
As the Albinaurics dispersed, Loretta fell into step beside Miquella. Her voice was low as she asked, "My lord, if I may... what purpose would the Divine Towers still serve? The Greater Will has abandoned our world and taken its grace with it."
Miquella paused, turning to face Loretta. A mysterious smile played on his lips as he responded, "If Magnus and I are correct in our theory, the Divine Towers might serve a new purpose entirely."
Loretta's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
"Think of it this way," Miquella explained, his eyes glinting with excitement. "If our theory holds true, we might be able to use the Divine Towers not just as conduits for grace, but as a barrier."
"A barrier?" Loretta echoed, intrigued.
Miquella nodded. "Yes. A barrier that could prevent the Greater Will - or any other outer god, for that matter - from interfering with our world again."
Loretta's eyes widened as the implications sank in. "That would be... revolutionary."
"Indeed," Miquella agreed. "But it's still just a theory. We have much work to do before we can even attempt such a thing."
As they resumed walking, Loretta's mind raced with the possibilities. "Is there anything else I can do to assist, my lord?"
Miquella smiled up at her. "Continue training our people, Loretta. If we're to reshape our world, we'll need every skilled hand we can get."
With a nod of understanding, Loretta departed, leaving Miquella to his thoughts. As he made his way back to his workshop, the young demigod's mind whirled with calculations and possibilities. The path ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in a long while, it was also filled with hope.
As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Magnus stood on one of the massive branches of the Haligtree, his eyes fixed on the distant sea. The salty breeze ruffled his blonde hair as he searched for any sign of sails on the horizon, his thoughts filled with concern for Malenia.
He sensed Miquella's approach before he saw him, the smaller demigod's presence a familiar comfort. Miquella joined him in silence, both brothers lost in their own thoughts for a moment.
Finally, Miquella broke the silence, his voice soft but sincere. "You know, Magnus, you're the best thing that's happened to Malenia... to all of us, really."
Magnus turned, surprise evident on his face. Miquella continued, "You gave Malenia a new purpose, a new will to live. After everything she's been through, I never thought I'd see her truly happy again. But you changed that."
A small, sad smile played on Magnus's lips as he thought of Malenia, out there somewhere on her mission. Miquella went on, "And it's not just Malenia. You've helped unite us all, make peace between siblings who once tore the world apart with their conflicts."
Magnus chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Well, when you put it that way, I suppose I didn't have much choice. The only thing worse than the Frenzied Flame would be a second Shattering between the demigods."
Miquella laughed at that, the sound carrying on the sea breeze. "True enough. Can you imagine? Radahn and Malenia going at it again, this time with Godwyn joining the fray?"
"Don't forget Maeve," Magnus added with a grin. "She'd probably set the whole Lands Between on fire just to prove a point."
Their laughter subsided, replaced by a comfortable silence as they both gazed out at the sea once more. After a moment, Magnus spoke, his voice tinged with worry. "Do you think she's alright out there, Miquella? Malenia, I mean."
Miquella placed a hand on Magnus's arm. "She's the strongest person I know, Magnus. And now she has even more reason to come back to us. To you."
Magnus nodded, covering Miquella's hand with his own. "Thank you, brother. For everything."
As the sun dipped lower, painting the sky in brilliant hues of orange and pink, the two brothers stood together, their shared concern for Malenia and hope for the future binding them. The Haligtree swayed gently in the wind, a silent guardian to their vigil, as they waited for the return of their loved ones and the dawn of a new era for the Lands Between.